Heart's Delight Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Heart’s Delight

  ISBN # 1-4199-0487-6

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Heart’s Delight Copyright© 2006 Margrett Dawson.

  Edited by Ann Leveille.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: January 2006

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as

  “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  HEART’S DELIGHT

  Margrett Dawson

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  google: Google, Inc.

  Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited

  The Sopranos: Time Warner Entertainment

  Thermos: Thermos-Gesellschaft M. B. H.

  Heart’s Delight

  Chapter One

  The first indication there was something strange about the mirror was the music.

  She’d wrestled it home from the antique store the day before her birthday. Her grandfather had ordered it for her just before he died, with instructions for it to be ready on June 20.

  Sweating with the effort, she extricated the mirror from the rear of the pickup and dragged it into the house, propping it against the empty wall in the living room. She grabbed a glass of water and sank onto the couch to catch her breath. The thing had to weigh a good fifty pounds, and she’d need to put in some wall anchors to hold it. But it looked good. It made the room seem even bigger and reflected the light that struggled through the bushes outside.

  The glass was obviously old, with a lovely wavy, gray sheen to it. The ornate frame had never been painted, so the patina of the well-aged wood gleamed. She half closed her eyes and imagined it hanging in an Edwardian drawing room, reflecting soft gaslight as elegant ladies danced and flirted to a three-piece orchestra.

  She could hear the music. She hummed along to an old waltz tune.

  Her eyes flew open.

  The music was real.

  She sat up straighter and put her glass on the side table, listening intently. The tune slowly faded and finished in a jangle of sound. She let out her breath. The ice cream truck.

  She gave a small laugh. Sometimes when the wind was in the right direction she could hear traffic from the town across the lake. For a moment there, she’d have sworn the sound was coming from the mirror. Living alone must be making her fanciful.

  There was no time for imaginary music. There were practical things to do, like taking Star into the stable, checking on the other horses, then catching up on some paperwork. She sighed and heaved herself off the couch. Maybe the accounts would show a better balance this month and she could get more help.

  But first she went to the toolbox that had belonged to her grandfather. At the bottom she found a package of wall screws, neatly labeled. Gramps had been a stickler for neatness and order. It made him seem closer if she kept his tools in good condition.

  She took hold of a wall plug and picked out the hammer. Eyeing the bare expanse above the cold fireplace, she chose a spot that would be just within her reach if she stood on a stool.

  She wrestled the mirror up onto the mantel and managed to anchor it. When it was hung at last she flexed her sore biceps. “My goodness,” she said aloud, looking into the 5

  Margrett Dawson

  glass. “You’re giving me quite a workout.” A faint movement rippled across the surface. She turned in surprise. The curtain on the opposite wall must have moved in the air from the open window.

  “Elaine, you dummy,” she muttered to herself, “did you leave it open again?” She tried to remember to close the window when she left the house, because it was at ground level and gave direct access into her living quarters. She had been so used to Gramps always being home she’d grown careless. With three quick steps she reached the window and lifted the curtain to check the latch.

  It was firmly closed. The draft must have come from elsewhere.

  “Way to go,” she whispered. She might be fanciful and she might be broke, but at least she wasn’t absentminded.

  She headed outside, where Star waited for her impatiently at the gate to the paddock.

  “That hungry?” Elaine said and took the halter to lead the horse into the stable. She leaned her head on the mare’s belly as she brushed her smooth, brown coat.

  “How’s your baby doing?” she whispered in the mare’s ear. Star snuffled against her face.

  It took a while to feed and water the other three animals she was boarding. She had six empty stalls and she needed more customers, but there was no way she could take on more alone. As it was, exercising and grooming four horses took all her time.

  The weeds outside the stable block were growing high, she noticed. Maybe Tom Haynes would come and cut them, if he wasn’t too grand now he was in grade ten.

  She opened a can of soup for supper and ate it in front of the cold fireplace. The mirror was angled so she could see her head and shoulders and the room behind. She liked the way she looked in the old glass. It softened her features, catching highlights in her dark hair as if a candle glowed beside her. The room it reflected seemed larger, more comfortable than in reality. It created exactly the kind of atmosphere she wanted in her home. One day she’d have lots of beautiful pieces.

  She worked at her computer for a couple of hours after supper. Around nine o’clock she saved the pages of figures and heaved a sigh, stretching out her shoulders.

  Things were marginally better than she’d expected, but there still wasn’t enough money to hire permanent help. Like the bank manager had explained, the sensible option was to sell. He’d leaned back in his chair and fixed her with a beady eye. “Let’s face it,” he’d said. “If you sell out to the developers, you’ll make enough to start somewhere else.”

  “Not enough to keep horses and provide the classes for the children.”

  He’d shrugged. “Maybe someone else could do that. There are lots of charities in British Columbia that help mentally challenged youngsters.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Newman.” She’d stood up, clasping her papers to prevent him seeing how her hands were shaking. “I’ll find another way. I’m not selling.”

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  Heart’s Deligh
t

  She shut down the computer. Picking up her glass of water, she pushed back from the desk and stood by the window. The shadows had lengthened and a soft breeze stirred the tall trees around the paddock. She loved this place, she loved what she did.

  There had to be a way to save it all.

  As if drawn by a magnet, she moved back to the mantel and gazed into the mirror, lost in her thoughts. There. The curtain must have moved again because there was a shimmering in the glass just as before.

  She glanced behind her. Nothing stirred.

  She returned her attention to the mirror and leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

  At first it was like gazing into a dark pool where half-seen creatures moved lazily.

  Slowly, shapes appeared in the depths, moving and coalescing as they became clearer, until she was staring through a window into an old-fashioned drawing room filled with stuffed furniture and small tables. A piano stood in one corner, and a large green plant occupied a space by the door, its broad leaves gleaming in the soft light. Gas mantles burned on two of the walls and more illumination seemed to come from somewhere else in the room.

  This was not a reflection of her disordered living room.

  She stepped up to the glass to peer into it. It was like looking at an old photograph.

  There was no sound, only the faint flickering of the light. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, but strangely, she was not frightened by what she saw. The room she watched was calm and peaceful. It looked well used and comfortable, as if waiting for people to return to it.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them again, the room was gone.

  There was her computer over in the corner, her glass of water on the side table, a set of reins that needed repair thrown over the back of a chair.

  All trace of the mysterious room had vanished. She’d imagined the mirror as coming from an old house and that’s what her tired brain had served up to her. She was stressed and worried and she’d never lacked imagination. For weeks her mother had believed she had a best friend called Mary Belle, until she heard Mary Belle lived in a hollow in the rock garden. After that, Elaine had learned to keep her imaginary friends and exploits to herself.

  Nonetheless, she paused before the wooden frame before she went to bed. “Good night,” she whispered.

  * * * * *

  The next morning the mirror reflected nothing but her own face and her own living room. She called Tom Haynes about the yard work and thankfully he agreed to come if she could pick him up. As she drove to Tom’s house she passed Blackie’s Antique Shoppe and pulled in on a whim.

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  Margrett Dawson

  Joe was crouched over, sorting through a box of blackened silver. He glanced up as she entered the shop.

  “Joe” she said, “what do you know about that mirror I picked up yesterday?”

  Joe looked at her warily. “What’s the matter with it?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all. I was just wondering if you had any background on it.”

  She fished in her mind for a word. “Provenance, don’t they call it?”

  Joe snorted with laughter and clambered to his feet. “It was in a pile of old junk that I took out of the Masterton House in Victoria before they pulled it down. All built over now with a shopping mall. Since the mirror was in one piece, I cleaned it up and put it up for sale.”

  “So you’ve no idea where it might have come from originally?”

  “Nope.”

  “It couldn’t have come from a funhouse, could it? You know, a place with trick mirrors?”

  Joe looked annoyed. “Look, Ellie, I told you I got it myself when they tore down the house. If you don’t believe me—”

  “I do, I do,” she said hastily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

  She turned to leave, then thought of something else. “Do you still have any of the rest of the things from the Masterton House?”

  Joe shook his head. “Not much…wait.” He headed for the back of the store. “Just this old photograph.” He blew the dust from a black frame and handed her a faded picture.

  Elaine rubbed the glass with her sleeve. It showed a room with a large green plant and furniture just like she’d seen in the mirror. She stared at it, searching her mind for the details of the room she’d observed last night. She couldn’t possibly have imagined this very room. But she had. It was the same in every detail, except for the fact this one had people in it.

  She’d imagined the room as waiting for its occupants and here they were, in a family grouping, all in shades of sepia. On the couch, facing the camera, sat a woman in long skirts. Her arm lay protectively ‘round the shoulders of a boy and a young girl was at her side. Just behind her, a tall man with a walrus mustache stared solemnly straight ahead.

  “How much?” Elaine asked.

  Joe looked surprised. “The frame’s still good—” he began.

  “I’ll give you five.”

  He opened his mouth as if to bargain, then smiled. “Done. Shall I wrap it?”

  “No, don’t bother. It’s fine the way it is.”

  She fished out a five-dollar bill. “Did you ever see anything strange in the mirror?”

  “What kind of strange?”

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  Heart’s Delight

  “Just—shapes.”

  Joe stuffed the money in his pocket and turned back to his silverware. “That old glass distorts.”

  “Right, that must be what it is.”

  * * * * *

  Elaine picked up Tom and drove home. Her first impulse was to run inside and wait for the mystery room to reappear so as to compare it with the picture, but she made herself complete all the chores first. Of course it all took longer because she was working alone and she was still busy in the afternoon when her friend, Maggie, brought the children from the summer camp for their lessons.

  Partway through the session, when the children were sitting on the grass sipping from juice boxes, Elaine took Maggie’s arm. “Two minutes,” she said. “I need you to look at something.” She called to Tom, still hacking away at weeds, “Take a break, Tom, and watch the kids for two minutes, will you?”

  Thankfully, Tom put down his tools and went to sit with the children under the shade tree.

  Elaine dragged Maggie into the living room. “There,” she said. “There’s the old mirror Gramps ordered for me for my birthday.”

  Maggie made a face, pushing out her lower lip. “Hmm. Not bad.”

  “Not bad? It’s great. I love it. But look into it.”

  Her friend peered closer and pushed back a tendril of hair. “It distorts a bit.”

  “What do you see?”

  “My hair needs a trim. Do you think I should get it cut? There’s a smudge on my nose—”

  “No, no. Do you see my living room?”

  Maggie turned her eyes to Elaine. “Of course I see your living room, what do you expect me to see?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” She sighed. “You have time for a cold drink, don’t you?”

  Maggie shrugged and followed her into the kitchen, still talking about the mirror.

  “Not my taste of course,” she said. “But I know you like that ornate, clunky stuff. Here, I brought you some really useful presents.” She held out two small packages.

  Elaine held the gift boxes in her palm with a premonition of what they contained.

  She forced a grateful smile for her friend. “Pretty wrapping. Thanks, Mags. What are they?”

  Maggie grinned. “Open them and find out. Happy birthday.”

  Elaine tore off the paper and ribbon and opened one of the boxes. Two metal objects the size and shape of ping-pong balls lay snugly cushioned in red silk. “Dare I ask?”

  She lifted the objects by the silk cord that joined them.

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  Margrett Dawson

  “Pleasure balls.” Maggie sat on a kitchen chair, closed her eyes and stretched her arms behind her h
ead. “Just insert them and enjoy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Maggie opened one eye and grinned. “You slip them in, and as you walk around all day…” She rubbed her palms together. “Heavenly feelings, just where you need them.

  Magic.”

  Elaine put the box down on the table. The little metal balls chimed together on a musical note.

  “And you chime like a bell?”

  Maggie sat up, planting her boots on the floor. “No. Inside there, it’s all soft and very wet, believe me. Only you can feel them. Then when you get home, you can take them out, if you can bear it, and use something else. Like the Benwa balls in the other box. They’re smaller so you can actually do it with them in if you want.”

  Something else. Upstairs there was a whole drawer full of unused toys Maggie had insisted would make her loneliness more bearable. As if anything could ever replace flesh and blood.

  Elaine shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mags. It’s kind of you and all that, but not for me.” She picked up the boxes again and held them out to her friend. “You take them.”

  Maggie shoved back her mop of hair and stood, shaking her head. “Nope. Got my own set. And well used they are.” She gave Elaine a wink. “Got the pleasure balls in right now.” She wiggled her hips in her snug jeans. “Hot date with Jake tonight. He loves it when I prepare the ground, so to speak.”

  Despite herself, Elaine felt a little trickle of moisture between her legs at the thought. She swallowed.

  Maggie pushed her friend’s hand away. “You keep them with the other stuff.” She sipped the lemonade Elaine had put on the table. “No telling what could happen in the second part of the year, is there?”

  She nodded toward the empty fireplace. “I must say I envy you the open fire for the cold months. Makes you think of what you could do on a soft rug.” She took three steps to the door. “Better get back to the kids.”