Out of My Grave Read online

  Out of My Grave

  By

  Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Credits Page

  Eternal Press

  A division of Damnation Books, LLC.

  P.O. Box 3931

  Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

  www.eternalpress.biz

  Out of My Grave

  by Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-995-1

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-996-8

  Cover art by: Dawné Dominique

  Edited by: Juanita Kees

  Copyright 2013 Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Printed in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  Worldwide English Language Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication page

  For my grandmother, Madeline Elizabeth O’Hanlon aka Nana. Rest in peace.

  Acknowledgements:

  My mother, as always.

  Chapter One

  Imprisoned

  Well, here I am, yet again, sitting listening to him go on about useless fluff which neither interests nor concerns me in the slightest.

  I was almost entirely sure there was a look of complete disinterest on my face. Such a look on my countenance could not have been too flattering either. Yet, he continued to jabber on, meaninglessly, dull, frightfully boring. So much so, I felt an ache in my jaw as I fought back a yawn. My lips pursed together as I fought the urge to open my mouth and let the sound of boredom escape. My eyelids drooped from the weight of my disinterest.

  I pouted and noticed a silky black strand of hair had escaped from my barrette, falling in front of my face. I crossed my eyes, staring at the strand.

  “Annalee? Are you listening?”

  His voice echoed in my head and brought my attention away from the strand of hair. I glanced across the small table into his blue eyes. “Hmm? Oh…yes.”

  A bold-faced lie. Of course I wasn’t listening! In all the years he had known me, never once had I shown any interest whatsoever in architecture. Yes, the buildings were pretty, but I honestly could not give a damn. Honestly, I preferred to be outside. Why confine myself? I would much prefer to sit among the long weeds in the yard, the sun shining brightly, butterflies passing by. Why be stuffed up in some ancient building?

  Dale gave his usual small smile before he continued on. He continued on! He actually continued none the wiser of my disinterest! I hated pretending. Isn’t pretending much like lying? Lying was something I would never want to do to poor Dale.

  I say ‘poor Dale’ not because he is unfortunate in his wealth. No, no, Dale’s family was among the wealthiest in London. I meant he was unfortunate in his personality. I mean, he could hold a conversation, but the subject was seldom of much interest, at least for me. His head was mainly in his studies in architecture. He was certainly not versed in society, other than what was expected in etiquette.

  But, he had one very admirable quality. He was very caring of other people. He would gladly give the blouse off his back to someone in need. Of course, generosity was not a quality which brought him luck in life. People often used him and took advantage of his slow wits. Not that he was stupid—oh no—he was just…not wise. Perhaps he just couldn’t bear to think other people used him in such a terrible way. Why not accept people for their ugliness and hope they would redeem themselves through his one kind act?

  Dale and I had known each other for nearly three years. We were introduced at a party when I was sixteen. It was obvious the meeting was supposed to be a match, but nothing ever really came of it. At least, I thought nothing had come of it. Truthfully, neither did others, since we rarely needed a chaperone in the room. Our encounters were usually at friends’ parties, the occasional ball, or tea in the afternoon.

  I will be honest. My luck with men has not been the best. I have been through a vast number of suitors, many of them being the usual gentlemen—not a brain in their head, nor of any interest to me. Dale was quite the same, though he was kinder…harmless really. I never felt the need to protect myself from him, though I still needed to protect myself around others. Those who wished the worst upon me, to use me for whatever reason. He lacked the ability to notice the painfully obvious. Poor Dale.

  I really should be grateful for his boring talks, after all such times are the only time I get to escape to my own little world…somewhere I would much rather be.

  I especially enjoyed escaping into my dreams. I took comfort in them being a place no one would ever interfere. I could be anyone. I wasn’t just plain Annalee Harding, daughter of the highly regarded physician. I could be swept away by whimsical thoughts of fancy, meet people I would never ordinarily meet and do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do. Does that not sound much more appealing than sitting around in a stuffed up manor with people jabbering on about absolutely nothing over tea?

  I know, doesn’t it sound silly, living in the lap of luxury and being miserable? Poor little rich girl, right? Well, I’m not completely miserable. As with anyone suffering from loneliness, there were often things that filled me with happiness. I enjoyed riding, sitting in the garden, reading, being outside in any way in the fresh summer air especially. But, those wore off quickly. I could not even say they were addictive in any way. I never sought them out. Those experiences were few and far between. I had no way of knowing what would make my day better, if anything did at all.

  I sighed heavily, searching our sitting room—or salon to the French—for something of interest. Of course, with the Revolution looming over Europe, speaking of France or the French style was not popular. So, the ‘sitting room’ it is.

  When I walked into the room the first thing my eyes were drawn to were the two sets of grand French doors draped in pale, silky yellow, leading out to the yard. There was no escaping the fact the house was built when French styling was popular. So, ‘French’ doors are what they are.

  Beside them to my right was a red plush armchair with a matching one on the other side of the fireplace. Then there was the little table and chairs at which Dale and I sat, the closest pieces of furniture to the door leading out to the foyer. The walls were covered with paintings—some of the family, some of the wilderness. In the middle of the table, sat a vase or sculpture, it depended on the day really. The room was quaint and comfortable.

  I came back to looking at Dale, at his cropped light brown hair and blue eyes. Of course, wigs were not popular much of anywhere anymore, though in London they were worn for court fashions. Even court wasn’t exactly formal anymore. Again…politics.

  Dale wore a blue double-breasted waistcoat, cut off at the waist and a black frock coat with a high collar, the silk softly shining in the light. His white breeches matched his stockings right down to where they met his black, round-toed shoes. He looked sharp. I will give him that much.

  Dale was quite thin, sometimes clumsy, often tripping over his own feet. I never understood how he did it. But, perhaps it was because he could fall into my own habit—getting lost in one’s own thoughts. Though, I doubt his thoughts were daydreams, more of his studies, taking in art…those sorts of thing.

  His eyes narrowed at the outer corners, bright blue in a heart-shaped face with rou
nded cheeks. His face was always smooth; the skin filled with color, his lips thin and uninteresting. That was Dale. I was sure some of the other women thought he was a good catch too. And, you know, he probably was. I just wasn’t interested.

  “We should go visit Paris, don’t you think, Annalee? Once this Revolution business is all over, of course.”

  Dale’s voice seemed expectant, as if I was to eagerly agree with him and let him whisk me off to the city. Not that visiting Paris would not be of interest to me…the company I would be holding was what deterred me. Dale’s ideas of entertainment were not the same as my own.

  My eyes came to him and I gave a small smile. “Perhaps.”

  My eyes darted over to the clock on the wall by the door. He had talked for nearly forty-seven minutes. He never visited for longer than an hour, so I was hopeful he would take his leave in the minutes to come.

  “Annalee?”

  My eyes came back to him. “Yes?”

  I sighed again, the ache in my jaw returning. Fighting another yawn, I lazily brought my hand up to the side of my face.

  “Would you agree there comes a time in one’s life when one needs to be…impulsive?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Follow your heart, so to speak?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  I let my head tilt to one side, thinking. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Perhaps even…seize the moment?” He focused on me, his expression expectant.

  I nodded again. “I suppose.”

  “Then…Annalee Harding, would you do me the honor of being my wife?” He leaned across, his hand reaching for mine, which rested on the table.

  “Your…what?” I said. They were the only words to escape me.

  He sat up a bit, his eyes not leaving mine. “Well, we have been courting now for over three years. I thought now would be the time for us to make things official.”

  Officially what? Courting? That’s what you call this?

  I tried to smile, give him some comfort from the outright denial and rejection that screamed in my head. I could feel my face scrunching in confusion. Honestly, I had never seen what Dale and I had as courting. I had always thought him more of a really good friend. He never held or kissed me. There was no passion between us to even lead others to think we were together in such a way. I was caught by surprise. So much so, I was stunned into silence.

  “Annalee?”

  My eyes quickly came to him, biting my lower lip. “Hmm?”

  My eyes widened my head swimming in confusion. Dale’s face remained expectant. He wanted me to answer.

  “You are not happy?” His face was filled with worry, but still expectant.

  “I…well…I am not, well, I am…I mean, no,” I said. His face filled with sadness. I quickly tried to recover myself. “I don’t mean no. I mean ‘no’ meaning ‘yes’…?”

  “Yes?” His face lit up. “Really? Yes? This is wonderful! We must tell your father immediately!”

  Dale’s smile burst onto his face as he jumped up, ran over and kissed my cheek.

  “But, Dale,” I started, “I…I mean—”

  He turned and dashed out the room, disappearing into the hall.

  I sat there, confused. “I mean…oh, I don’t even know what I mean.” I put my hand to my forehead, sighing heavily.

  A moment later, my father and Dale came rushing in, my maid, Bess, trailing in after them. My father had his blouse sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaving the dark hair on his arms showing, his waistcoat nowhere to be found. He was obviously in the middle of working on something.

  A tall, strong man, my father towered over most. Broad shoulders, muscular arms and a wide chest, he looked more like a soldier than a physician. His light brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and wit under bushy eyebrows, which matched his cropped brown hair. But it was his smile, broad and easy under his thick mustache, which proclaimed him a gentleman.

  “Annalee, is this true?” His voice seemed concerned, as if Dale was telling tall tales. He still had a deep kindness about him though, which often made me smile with loving thoughts of my father.

  I stood up as Bess, short and petite of frame, ran up to me, wrapped her thin arms around me and held me close. Her thick, ‘English countryside’ accent rang in my ears. “This is fabulous news! Look at the blushing bride.”

  Blushing was never appealing to me, usually being linked with being embarrassed and making a fool of oneself. I am always careful of what I say and in what context I say it. At that moment, I was not blushing. If there was color in my cheeks it was due to being confused, and angered.

  How am I to get out of this one? Without hurting anyone…?

  I glanced up at my father. “Well…” I began, trying to think of some way to explain delicately.

  “We have much to do,” Dale interrupted.

  A deep emptiness engulfed me, my eyes downcast, cupping my hands before me. No one listened to me. No one let me finish my bloody sentences! I was always foolish little Annalee, her head filled with nonsense dreams. At least that’s what people in my own home said. There was no way to get out of the situation without hurting Dale, even if he wasn’t letting me get a word in. I decided to stay silent. I would be wasting my breath trying to voice myself anyway.

  “We will need to let everyone know. Perhaps an engagement party.” Bess grabbed my hands excitedly.

  A few stray brunette strands poked out of the light pink cap on her head. Her apron covered the front of her drab brown skirt and faded yellow bodice, stretching around her shoulders. An off-white chemise poked out from the sleeves cuffed at her elbows. Her milky white skin, much like my own, gleamed in the light.

  I loved Bess. Throughout my childhood, she was a mother figure for me, taking on the responsibilities of explaining things to me which were difficult for my father to talk about.

  My mother passed away giving birth to me. Adamant about doing things himself, he had not remarried. He was convinced no one could replace my mother or the love he had for her. Soon afterwards, he hired Bess. He quickly realized raising a child was no simple task, especially while trying to run his medical practice.

  I remember helping her in the garden, picking flowers, helping me with riding, having tea and reading together. I suppose Bess was the mother I never had. I would like to have met my mother. I had only heard stories. Apparently we were a lot alike.

  “Annalee?”

  Bess’ voice brought me out of my thoughts. She smiled warmly, something that always made me smile. It was a response I couldn’t really help.

  Dale turned to the clock as it sounded, reaching the hour. He smiled and walked over to me. “Well, I must be off. I will return in the evening to make our way to Sean’s dinner party. I am sure everyone will be delighted to know we have decided to make things official.”

  He leaned in, kissing my cheek before he stood up straight. He nodded his head towards my father and Bess respectively before he dashed out.

  Bess turned to me smiling, clasping her hands together. “Oh, I have been waiting for this day for so long. Since you and Dale were introduced! I should check on dinner.” She kissed me on the cheek and walked happily out of the room, her skirt waving lightly as she disappeared out the door.

  I stared after her, my mouth scrunching to the side in frustration.

  “For someone who just got engaged, you do not seem happy at all, Poppet.”

  My father sat down opposite me, his strong frame seeming to engulf the seat Dale had sat in.

  I bit my lip, completely annoyed. “No. The answer to his proposal was supposed to be ‘no’. No meaning no. Just no. No engagement, no party and certainly no wedding.”

  “Well, perhaps it is for the best?” He leaned forward, grabbed a small piece of ribbon from the table and began to fiddle with it.

  My eyes grew wide with shock. “Are you mad?”

  He laughed lightly. “Well Annalee, every suitor who has come by has not exactly stayed for long. Dale has stayed arou
nd the longest…if my memory serves me correctly.”

  My brow furrowed as I walked over to the first set of doors, looking out one of the little windows.

  “All those other suitors were rude, stuffy, snobby little boys who wouldn’t know a book if it hit them in the bloody face.”

  I frowned as my eyes focused on the fountain in the middle of the vast yard. I watched as the water flowed out of the top and down to each level, overflowing until the water reached the bottom. I found such a thing much more interesting than the entire hour Dale had come to visit. My voice lowered, perhaps too low for my father to hear. “There is something missing.”

  “Well, most are not used to your free spirit. They often shy away from those who are unlike the normal standards.” He continued to sit in the chair, his soothing deep voice making it impossible to be cross with him. He hadn’t heard me before.

  I turned to him and gave him a small smile. “Well, being normal is boring. Dale is normal and I can barely stay awake when he visits. I know the dinner party is going to be slow torture this evening. All those people…all pretending to be my friends. I know what they say about me.”

  Saddened, my eyes went to the floor, remembering what I had overheard at the last party, what those dreadful people said about me, calling me strange and gossiping; telling stories nowhere near the truth.

  I didn’t like those people. I didn’t like their world of lies and deception.

  I wanted to voice myself again, tell my father how I really felt about the whole situation, about my whole life, but when my eyes met his, which were filled with concern, I couldn’t find my voice. It was lost inside me, buried below my love for my father and those soothing eyes. Did he even know the answer?

  “Do you really think such a marriage is a good idea? Do you think I should not say anything and just…comply?” My head fell to the side as I bit my lip, overwhelmed with a feeling of defeat. I tried to keep my gaze away from his, knowing my eyes were just as expressive. Green like my mother’s, or so I was told.