LILY
“We’ll be visiting the fourth floor, which is usually closed to visitors,” said the tour guide as he led us up the curving double staircase of the Davenport House. The old white wooden door creaked as he opened it. “Please make sure you leave everything as you found it. No leaping out of closets at me either.” The tour group let out a unified chuckle. “Big guys like me scare really bad.”
I fell back from the group and looked up and down State Street for Gabe, but I didn’t see him. I sent him a quick text to tell him where we were and then followed the tour group inside the majestic, spectacular old foyer. I’d been to a wedding at the Davenport once, and I’d also taken my sister there for high tea when she was the throes of her Boris fury. She always said that cucumber sandwiches and Earl Grey in the Davenport garden had helped her get back on her feet. But for all the memories I had of the house, I had never had the chance to go up to the fourth floor, where—rumor had it—the real ghosts were.
Whatever that means, Lily. Real ghosts. Pffft.
The members of the tour followed the guide up the curving, elegant stairs, every piece of wood carefully joined and polished. The treads creaked as everybody headed up the steps, and their whispers got quieter as they got to the second floor. Again, I hung back to get some shots of the empty foyer with its black-and-white floor tiles, inset with a circle that reminded me of a compass. Still no Gabe.
Following the tour upstairs, I heard the tour guide explain that we were free to explore as we wanted. “Even though it’s daytime, there is still a chance you will feel a presence or a specter. Sometimes things happen when we least expect them, but never when we don’t believe they will.”
Most of the tour group ambled off toward the rooms on the left side of the hallway, but I found myself drawn to the rooms on the right, where the light was dimmer and the rooms slightly less welcoming—more frowsy, crowded, and dark. After wandering through two larger bedrooms, I found myself in an elegant and tidy bedroom with a single bed in the middle. It had a handmade quilt and yellowed lace curtains that filtered out most of the light from the dormer window. A doll sat on the bed, leaning up against the pillow. As I knew full well from my sister’s efforts to furnish the museum accurately, antebellum dolls were a really long way from friendly and chubby-cheeked Cabbage Patch Kids. They were, in a word, spoooooooky. This one—with her porcelain face and black dress, her tattered shoes and stained cotton legs—was no exception. I went tight on her oddly adult features and her too-wide painted eyes, one of which had been rubbed off almost completely.
Maybe it was the doll giving me the heebie-jeebies, but something in the room gave me a shiver. “There is a sort of strange feeling here,” I said to the camera as I filmed. “I’m not sure what it is, but it feels a bit odd.” Turning away from the bed, I made my way through the bedroom, between the bed and the window, and I could have sworn I heard something behind me. When I spun around, though, I found I was still alone.
But something was different than when I walked in. The closet door, on the far end of room, was now slightly ajar. It had been closed tight when I walked in. I was sure of it.
Oh no. “That wasn’t open when I walked in here.” I swallowed hard and tried to get my heart to slow down. My breath got caught in my throat, and my fingertips went cold. “That definitely wasn’t open a second ago.”
I turned the camera to the bedroom door, hoping that Gabe would walk through. Or one of the other tour members. But nobody appeared.
I was all on my own for this one.
For the sake of the show and, more importantly, for Gabe, I swallowed my worry. Forcing one foot in front of the other, I approached the closet. “Let’s see if we can find anything.” I gripped the camera in one hand and, summoning every ounce of courage I had, reached out to open the door. Just as I touched the edge of it, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I was so astonished, so terrified, that I couldn’t even get a peep out of my mouth. In an instant, another hand shot out of the closet, a big, brawny forearm attached to an equally brawny biceps. Before I knew it, I was in the darkened closet in Gabe’s strong arms. “Boo,” he said into my ear, laughing softly.
“Meanie!” I whispered with a shove, unable to suppress my terrified and relieved breathy laughter. He pretended like I was a whole lot stronger than I was and staggered back, making the wooden hangers clatter behind him.
He pulled me close, and I let my purse slide from my shoulder. His hands moved down my body, gripping my tush tight. “Got you a present.”
A thin strip of light spilled into the closet from underneath the bottom of the door. It was enough for me to see his beautiful smile. “If it’s another picnic basket, I think we should probably go ahead and get married.”
Oh, Lily. Inside thoughts. Inside thoughts!
But Gabe didn’t seem the least bit shocked that I’d just said the M-word. He snickered into my ear, scooping me up into his arms as I hooked my legs around him. He walked us across the closet and pressed me up against the wall. He came in for a kiss, and I got lost in him all over again. Until I heard the sound of the tour entering the room where I’d just been standing.
I pulled away from the kiss and looked into his eyes. The floorboards outside squeaked under the feet of the tourists. I heard the beeps and shutter sound effects of phones and digital cameras.
“Now,” said the tour guide, “I want everybody to try to get in touch with the feeling here. Really consider how you feel in this room, at this moment. Maybe you feel cold or warm or nervous or calm. Try to get in touch with that feeling if you would.”
Gabe smiled down at me. Every time I looked at him, my heart melted a little more. The feeling he gave me, though, it wasn’t just melty surrender. It was steadier than that, both more lasting and more peaceful. With my fingertips, I traced over the edges of his cheekbone, and he closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into my hand.
There were rustles and sniffles from the group outside the closet door. “It will be a feeling unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Something new, something strange. Something wonderful.” The guide paused and then asked, “Do you feel it?”
Gabe nodded against my palm. “I feel it.”
I held him close. I squeezed him tight. And I whispered into his ear, “I do too.”