Kori hesitated entering Jeb Crawford’s home. She had nearly fainted when she saw the flesh and blood man in the same outfit she had fantasized seeing his ancestor wearing. His resemblance to the Civil War captain was unnerving.
Her body’s reaction to him was quick and overwhelming. She felt her nipples harden and her panties became wet with anticipation. It was as if she were a heroine is some badly written romance novel. Kori wasn’t sure if she was responding to this man or his resemblance to his ancestor.
She never admitted to anyone her ability to feel a spirit’s angst, but it felt natural talking to him about what he referred to as a gift. The fact women in his family were similarly touched made her feel more comfortable with him. Kori wasn’t a freak in his eyes. Was she transferring her fascination with the specter she saw last night to his all too human descendant?
They walked into a large entrance hall. She stepped onto well-polished hardwood floors. The staircase to the second floor was hardwood as well, with a runner covering each step. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung beside the stairs, lighting both the entry and the way to the upper floor. Intricate crown molding separated the walls from the ceiling. Fortunately, the walls were painted, not covered with wallpaper. Family portraits lined the entry while landscapes hung on the journey upstairs.
“Well, hello,” a woman who slightly resembled Jeb stepped forward. “I’m Connie, Jeb’s cousin.”
It was odd how the woman in front of Kori was checking her out. Hadn’t Jeb ever brought a woman home before? Maybe she was surprised her visiting cousin would be so bold as to invite a guest into her home. The stare was scrutinizing, but welcoming.
Connie was roughly Kori’s height, five-foot-nine-inches. Like Kori, she wore sandals that barely added additional height. Her brown curly hair was short and brushed against her shoulders.
“Constance and her two daughters live here,” Jeb informed her. Kori noticed how Jeb used her full name, while Connie introduced herself using a less formal version. There was something unworldly about the man. “This is Kori. We met on the ghost tour you recommended I take.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kori,” Connie responded.
There was something going on between the two cousins Kori couldn’t identify. She felt like she walked into the middle of a play or an inside joke. Kori felt uncomfortable and was almost tempted to leave. But she wanted to see the artifacts Captain Jeb left behind.
Besides, she was terribly attracted to the man next to her. Every time he touched her, it was as if he lit a match within her. She burned for him. For the first time in her life, she considered having a one-night stand with a perfect stranger. It was little wonder after the dreams she experienced since arriving in Savannah.
“She would like to see the portrait of the captain and the property he left behind,” Jeb said.
That drew Kori from her wayward thoughts about the all too real man standing beside her. It was hard to differentiate between the two in her usually quite logical mind. There was a live, breathing man and one who died over a century and a half ago. Under normal circumstances, separating the two men wouldn’t be an issue.
“This way,” Connie said. “Everything is in the front parlor. That room is dedicated to his memory. We rarely use it.”
Although it was a large home, Kori thought it was odd to have a room reserved for the memory of a deceased man. She followed Connie through the door she opened at the base of the staircase. It was the room she saw Jeb Crawford’s image the previous night. Once she entered, Kori was disappointed she didn’t feel his presence.
A flesh and blood man was next to her, yet she lamented over a lover she could never have. Seeing Captain Crawford last night was not her imagination. When their eyes met for a brief moment, there was a connection between them. If Kori continued chasing windmills, she would never find happiness.
“What’s wrong?” Jeb asked. A look of genuine concern was on his face.
“I don’t feel him,” she answered.
“Kori has the sight,” Jeb told his sister. “The souls buried under Calhoun Square reached out to her.”
“What a terrible place,” Connie replied. “I remember the first and last time I walked over those poor souls’ graves. The experience was so overwhelming; I took to my bed for several days. It was my first experience with the dead. That was when my mother knew I possessed the gift. At least one Crawford female inherits the power to commune with the dead each generation.”
Her earlier feeling of discomfort toward Connie evaporated. A sisterhood-relationship replaced her earlier unease. They shared a special gift that brought them together.
“Are you a witch as well?” Kori inquired. Normally, she would not ask such an outrageous question, but she now felt comfortable in Connie’s presence. After what Jeb shared with a group of strangers on the ghost tour, Kori felt she was in safe territory. Witchcraft and clairsentience ran in their family.
“I may have inherited the ability,” Connie admitted, “but I am a woman of science. Believe it or not, I’m a doctor. Fortunately, when I lose a patient, I don’t feel their spirit. If I did, I don’t believe I could continue to practice medicine.”
Connie stepped fully into the room and extended her hand for Kori to enter. Her eyes immediately fell on a portrait of Captain Crawford. She was once again taken aback by the startling resemblance between the two men. Kori stepped closer to the painting to get a better look.
The artist had been talented. Jeb seemed to come to life when she stared at the painting. His light brown hair on his left side was lightened by the sun through a window outside the boundaries of what was depicted. Warm blue-gray eyes stared back at her.
“How old was he when he sat for the portrait?” Kori asked.
“Twenty-five,” Connie replied “It was commissioned upon his engagement to a local socialite.”
“He was married?” Kori asked. She didn’t know why she was so distressed by the news. It wasn’t as if Captain Crawford being a bachelor made any difference this long after his death.
Kori didn’t miss the look of disapproval Jeb sent in Connie’s direction. Kori hoped it wasn’t a result of her stricken look, she could have died from embarrassment. Perhaps it was time to stop wearing her emotions on her sleeve.
“Wealthy young men in my ancestor’s time were expected to marry and have a family,” Jeb explained. “Miriam was beautiful from all accounts and came from an old Savannah family. On paper, it was a perfect match.”
Jeb pulled out a miniature from the desk drawer and handed the likeness of his ancestor’s fiancée to her. She had blond ringlets and china blue eyes, features that were popular in her day. The small painting showed a lovely woman in a gown that matched the color of her irises. Miriam didn’t smile. Didn’t she wish to marry Jeb?
Kori had to ask. She didn’t know why it would make her feel better if the arranged marriage was not a happy one. In Jeb’s day, Kori would have been a slave, not a possible match for the wealthy white southerner.
“If not on paper, how was it in reality?” Kori asked.
“Miriam was three months pregnant when she married Jeb,” Connie said. “She carried another man’s child and my ancestor was duped. Jeb was heartbroken and Jenny was incensed. Miriam ended up dying in childbirth.”
“And the baby?” Kori asked.
“Stillborn,” Jeb answered. “My ancestor didn’t look at another woman thereafter. He wasn’t heartbroken, but betrayed. Jeb was too much of a gentleman to return his bride to her father when he learned the truth. The old bastard would have killed her. He didn’t want her blood on his hands.”
For a relative not living in Savannah, he certainly knew a lot of specifics about the captain’s life. His voice had been so animated; it was almost as if he lived it. Kori studied the painting and Jeb’s face to find any variance. Their likeness was identical, even to the small scar on his left cheekbone. It was if Jeb were a living apparition of his ancestor.
“How old was he when he died?” Kori asked. She needed to focus on the fact the man she saw last night was dead and buried.
“Twenty-nine,” Jeb answered.
“Enough talk about the dead,” Connie said. “Tell us about yourself, Kori. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a civil rights attorney working for a small firm in Chicago,” Kori said. “Originally, I was going to work for Cook County as a public defender, but felt I could better assist the community by fighting for their constitutional rights.”
“You are a lawyer?” Jeb said in surprise. “So am I.”
“I’m a civil rights attorney,” Kori elaborated. She needed to clarify she didn’t become a lawyer to make money, but to guarantee someone was looking out for the rights of minorities.
Jeb looked at her with such pride in his eyes, it was humbling. Her mother certainly didn’t agree with her career choice. Nothing about him or his reactions to her made any sense. Suddenly, the look in his eyes changed to smoldering. She became wet again just looking at him.
“Let me show you Jeb’s things,” Connie said.
“Don’t you have to collect your daughters from whatever party they attended?” Jeb asked with an edge to his voice.
Kori had to admit, she wanted to be alone with him. Connie immediately understood his remark and exited the room. If Jeb didn’t immediately take her into his arms, she was going to start pleading.