Hearts Through Time

EIGHT

Abigail spent Sunday reading the newspapers, trying in vain to find another article on Lillian Burnett. Perhaps Nick was right and this woman had been a schemer. What were the odds Lillian was indeed her maid, Lily?

Abigail searched through her memory for details about Lily's personal life. Her maid had mentioned having a daughter, but Abigail had never met the girl. Now Abigail wished she'd asked more about Lily's life when she was alive.

When the clock on the wall read eight pm, Abigail left the attic and headed to Nick's office, but the door was closed and the lights were off. She frowned. The rest of the day would pass slowly now, making her even more anxious to see him tomorrow.

Consumed with loneliness, she turned and walked to the main floor of the building. Once again, she wondered how she'd allowed a man into her heart so quickly. Was it because Nick was the first person to talk to her—or see her—in almost a hundred years? Or was it because her grandmother had dreamed about him being in Abigail's life, so she automatically trusted him?

Another memory assaulted her, and she smiled. For her eighteenth birthday, her grandmother had given her a golden heart-shaped locket. Immediately, she placed her hand on her neck to touch the necklace, only to realize she hadn't had it since the day she died. Strange, because she had worn it every day since her birthday. Her grandmother had blessed the necklace before giving it to Abigail. The older woman told her that this necklace would help her find her heart's true desire.

Chuckling, she shook her head. At that particular time in her life, her only true desire was to be a normal woman...feel like a woman, and have men court her. She also wanted her father's attention, and she knew she would have better luck with men than her father.

She reached the double-glass doors and looked out. The sun had slipped behind the horizon. People on the streets walked, rode bicycles, or drove fast motorcars. A casual breeze wafted through the trees, tousling women's hair as they walked by the building. Abigail grinned. As a child, she'd loved the feel of the wind blowing through her long hair and against her face. Oh, how she wanted to feel this again.

On impulse, she walked outside. She stood on the front steps of the building and closed her eyes, concentrating, wondering if she'd ever feel that sensation again. Noises from the street were all around—horns honked, engines roared, and people yelled. She blocked it out and focused on feeling the wind.

A slight breeze tickled her face, making her heartbeat quicken. She held her breath, praying for more, and soon a few strands of hair brushed against her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked down at her body. Nothing looked different, so how was it that she could feel more now?

She walked up the sidewalk, retracing the same path she and Nick had taken the night before. The closer she inched toward the street, the more her chest tightened and her breathing had become labored. An invisible force squeezed her body, trying to stop her from moving any farther.

Forcing herself to ignore the pressure, Abigail forged on, but soon the force pulled her back. How she hated this—hated being controlled and kept chained to this prison.

She ran back to the building and to the attic, and then fell to the floor and sobbed. What had she done in her life to end up like this?

When her crying subsided, she relaxed and closed her eyes. Within minutes, warmth spread through her and it was as if comforting arms wrapped around her body. Nick was somewhere in the building. She could actually feel him. And she could feel that he was looking for her...that he wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him—almost like she could read his mind.