LOVE AFTER DEATH

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Submitted Date 11/21/2018
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I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
 

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning









The house next door had stood empty for over a year. That had suited Ben's purposes just fine. He knew it wouldn't stay vacant forever, but he had enjoyed it while it lasted.

Now she was here. He watched her giving directions to the movers as he stood in the thick shade of the stand of trees that separated their two houses. Her long, coppery hair fell in waves almost to her waist. The khaki shorts she wore revealed long, muscular legs. Ben thought what it would be like to caress the long, silky hair and feel those legs wrapped around him in the heat of passion.

'Don't go there,' he ordered himself instantly. Nothing but trouble came from that kind of thinking.

He sighed and slipped silently and unseen through the trees and back to his own basement door. It was still morning and the sun sat low on the horizon. Since he had been in his present state for so long, Ben was no longer susceptible to the burning rays of the sun like those who had been born to the second life more recently.

The door was unlocked, but he locked it once inside the basement. The old wooden coffin was tucked away in a small, windowless room that could be locked as well. He glanced toward the locked door now. Sometimes he liked to sleep in the cool soil of his home, feeling it embrace him like a lover, secure in the coffin he was once buried in. Most of the time, he slept in a bed like the normal mortal he no longer was.

Maeve turned suddenly, almost reflexively, toward the stand of trees at one side of her house. She rubbed her bare arms, trying to shake the sudden chill she felt. 'I've been watching way too many scary movies,' she said to herself. Still, she couldn't completely banish the feeling she was being watched.

Then a few minutes later, the feeling was gone. She looked toward the large stand of evergreen trees that separated her house from her nearest neighbor. Had she seen a shadow, a flash of something there?

“Hmph,” she said, as she carried her purse and tote bag into the house. The house was a little large for what she needed, but the attic had the most perfect light, an essential for the mixed media work Maeve made her living from. The attic alone was enough to make her sign the buyer's contract on the dotted line. She hadn't had time to meet any of her neighbors, but the real estate agent assured her it was an excellent neighborhood – quiet, clean and crime-free.

Most of her equipment was already in the attic and her furniture had been set in place the day before. Setting her tote bag down and locking the front door, she stepped into the hallway that ran from the front to the back of the house. The house itself was old, but the real estate agent had assured her it had good bones. It had been renovated several times over the years and totally modernized by the last couple who had lived there. Maeve preferred the rustic farmhouse look and was happy to see that her furnishings fit in well with the design of the house. To her delight, there was a large yard out back and a small herb garden just outside the kitchen door. She planned to enlarge the garden and install a few new beds for flowers and vegetables. Her Irish grandmother would have approved of her plans. Her English grandfather would have approved of the English cottage style flower garden she had planned for the property.

It was already September, but still hot and much to late in the year to do much planting now, Maeve thought, but come spring, she planned to be outdoors practicing what she considered her therapy. After rushing to meet deadlines for an art show or a client, she found that gardening soothed and calmed her, evaporating the stress and making her feel grounded. She had spent many a happy hour digging in the dirt, she thought, smiling to herself.

Since she didn't have any deadlines fast approaching at the moment, she decided it would be wise to tackle unpacking the boxes that sat in every room and even in the hallway. She hoped to finish the bedroom, master bath and kitchen by the end of the day, as those were the rooms she figured she would be needing to use first. The next day she would tackle the living room and dining room and guest rooms, then leave her studio until the last. Maeve knew herself and her working habits well enough to know that once she started setting up her studio, the urge to get down to work on her next project would take over and nothing else would get done.

She ordered groceries to be delivered the day before and was happy to find the kitchen already stocked. Maybe she would order a pizza or some Asian take out for dinner, since she was pretty sure she would be too tired from unpacking to cook.

The kitchen had a double-hung door, as they called it in New England. Everyone else called them Dutch doors. Maeve immediately loved it, as well as the rest of the kitchen that featured an old fireplace. The owners had installed gas logs in the old brick fireplace but left the long arm and hook that currently held a large, black iron pot. Maeve's mind was already running ahead, thinking of decorating ideas. She couldn't wait to visit the flea markets and antique shops she had driven past in town on her way home that morning.

With a happy sigh, she found the box cutter and began to open boxes and fill cabinets with dishes, glassware and cookware. She found the coffee maker and immediately set it up on the ceramic counter, thinking she could do with a cup to keep her going. She had just finished filling it with water when the doorbell rang.

Padding down the long wooden-floored hallway in her bare feet, she hurried to the door and looked through the peephole. A young woman who appeared to be in her late 20s, like Maeve, stood on her stoop. She was attractive with her long blonde hair twisted into a messy bun and dressed casually in a capri pants, a peasant blouse and sandals. Maeve glanced down at her bare feet, regretting that she had left her own sandals in the kitchen, but she loved the sensation of the cool polished wood against her bare feet. The visitor was holding a basket of some kind with a tea towel covering it.

Maeve opened the door and smiled politely at the woman.

“Hello,” the visitor said. “I'm Rachael. I live just down the street,” she said, turning and pointing in
the direction of her house. Maeve could just make out a white saltbox with dark olive shutters through the canopy of leaves created by the trees that separated Rachael's house from her neighbor's. Turning back to face Maeve, Rachel thrust the basket toward her. “Welcome to our neighborhood.”

Maeve accepted the basket and shifted it into the crook of one arm as she opened the door wider. “It's nice to meet you, Rachael. Please do come in. I apologize for the mess and for my appearance, but I was just unpacking china in the kitchen.

Rachael stepped inside the cool hallway and Maeve closed the front door behind her. “Would you like some coffee? I was just brewing some,” she said as Rachel looked around the hallway.

“I have always loved this house,” Rachel said. “Coffee sounds wonderful. Thanks.”

The two women went to the kitchen, where Maeve removed the open box she had been unpacking from the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for her guest. She could feel the warmth from whatever goodies were in the basket. She placed it on the table and removed the towel. An assortment of muffins – blueberries, strawberries and some with a wonderful streusel topping.

“These look sinfully delicious,” Maeve said. “Thank you.”

Rachel waved her hand as if it was nothing. “You're most welcome. I love to bake, so it wasn't a big deal.”

Maeve set the table with small plates and coffee mugs, knives and napkins. To this she added a pitcher of cream and several jars of marmalades. After pouring Rachel's coffee and her own, she settled into the chair next to Rachel's and reached for a muffin with the streusel topping. The warm, moist muffin almost melted in her mouth. “Oh this is awesome,” she said, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.

Rachael beamed a smile at her. “Thank you. The recipe has been in my family longer than anyone knows or cares to admit. Our family has been here since the days of the colony.”

“How fascinating,” Maeve said. “I would love to learn about the history of the town.”

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Comments

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  • Mary Jaimes-Serrano 5 years, 1 month ago

    Claudia, this is wonderfully written. It leaves one with a longing to know the story Rachael will tell. Thank you for sharing. Have a marvelous week.

  • Miranda Fotia 4 years, 11 months ago

    I love vampire stories! I devoured all of the Anne Rice books in my teens. Never really got into the Twilight series, though I have heard good things. Great start to your book. I look forward to seeing where the story goes.