The Colonial Connection 



By Katie rose 
Copyright ©2001 by Katie rose.  All rights reserved.  

Julie had returned home from work half an hour earlier.  She had taken
off her heels, stripped off her nylons, and now stood barefoot in the 
kitchen.  She heard the door of the apartment open as she finished 
tossing the salad for their dinner.  Turning, she smiled as Steve 
entered the room. 
"Hi, Hon," he said. 
"Hi."  She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.  "How was your day?"
she asked as she turned back to the sink to wash the mushrooms. 
Steve wrapped his arms around her waist.  "Very good."  He rubbed his
cock against her backside.  "I have some good news," he whispered. 
"You do?"  She pushed back against him. 
"Yes.  Guess who gets to take his lovely wife on a trip to the east
coast?" 
She turned her head and looked at him.  "Really?" 
"Yes."  He smiled and kissed her, moving his hands up to cup her
breasts, kneading the flesh through the fabric.  Still dressed in her 
work clothes, her skirt rode up when he pushed against her. 
"When?" 
"Next week.  Do you think you can get off of work?" 
She smiled, tilting her head and offering the bare flesh of her neck to
him.  "I think something can be arranged." 
He pulled up her skirt, exposing her silky panties then slid his fingers
across the black, shiny fabric, pulling them slightly up between the 
cheeks of her ass.  He continued to nibble along her neck, leaving a 
moist trail, as he drew closer to her ear.  She moaned when she felt 
his teeth graze her earlobe.  Hooking his fingers in the waistband, he 
slid the panties down her legs, then reached between her thighs and 
felt her wetness.  Stopping for a moment, he pulled a chair closer to 
them, and she rested her foot upon it, bending slightly forward over 
the sink.  Within seconds, he had his trousers unzipped and pushed to 
the floor.  He took his cock in hand and brushed it back and forth over 
her opening, making it slick with her juices. 
Julie reached between her legs and pressed the head of it against her
clit each time he pushed forward.  Her breath was quickening when he 
finally guided the tip of his cock to her opening, pressing forward and 
sheathing himself within her.  He slowly started thrusting into her, 
grasping her hips and guiding their movements.  She felt his hardness 
with her hand where it entered her with her hand and brushed her 
fingers across her button, raising the sensitivity and driving her 
closer to her orgasm. 
"You're so sexy," he said.  "Come on, Baby.  Do it for me."  He pinched
her nipple through her blouse.  Their movements became frenzied and she 
held onto the edge of the counter and continued playing with herself. 
"Yes.  I feel it.  Oh God!"  She cried out as the waves of pleasure
passed over her, the liquid heat coursing through her body.  She 
stiffened and felt herself gripping his cock as it pistoned within her 
warm folds.  Steve's cries soon echoed hers and the smell of sex filled 
the tiny kitchen.  As their heartbeats returned to normal, he held her 
within his arms, once again kissing the nape of her neck. 

Her flight had landed in Providence twenty minutes ago, and Julie
watched as the baggage passed by on the carousel.  She'd taken a  
different flight than Steve.  He had to attend meetings all day, and 
should be done in time to pick her up at the airport.  Her cell phone 
rang just as she was reaching for her Pullman, the noise in the airport 
making it hard for her to hear. 
"Hello?" 
"Hi.  I'm almost there.  I'll pick you up in the pick-up area.  Can you
meet me there so I don't have to park the car?" 
"Sounds good, I'm almost there.  What are your driving?" 
"A gold Taurus," he answered. 
She headed for the exit, watching for his rental.  Second from the end,
she saw the car.  He popped the trunk from the inside and went around 
the vehicle to help her load her bag.  Leaning over, he kissed her.  
"I'm glad you're here." 
She smiled back at him and went around to get in the car.  Once inside
she turned and kissed him again, wrapping her fingers around the back 
of his neck. 
"Did I tell you I'm glad that you're here?" he repeated. 
"Yes."  She sat back and smiled.  "Where are we staying?" she asked. 
He pulled away from the curb and followed the flow of traffic out to the
highway that would carry them across the islands and into Newport.  
"You're going to love this.  We're staying at The Jailhouse." 
"What?" 
He laughed.  "Peter, from the head office, suggested it.  He said the
rooms around here are expensive, but he got me in under a corporate 
rate and since it's the off-season, the cost is reasonable.  We're 
having dinner with him tomorrow night.  I think you'll like him." 
"The Jailhouse.  You're sure that's what it's called.  It sounds kind of
kinky to me." 
"I drove by it before.  It doesn't look too bad.  It used to be a
jailhouse, but they converted it to an inn.  Peter says they still have 
a lot of the original features of the colonial era jail house intact." 
"Sounds like it will be interesting at least.  What is the plan for
tonight?"  She looked out her window and watched the lights of the city 
reflecting off Narragansett Bay. 
"We have a choice.  We could go get something to eat now, or we could go
to the inn, get our things unpacked, and then go out." 
"It's fairly early.  I think I'd like to do that first.  I could use a
shower."  She knew what else she wanted, hiding her smile in the 
darkness. 
They drove over the Jamestown Bridge, through the tollbooth, then onto
the Newport Bridge.  By then, it was completely dark, and she wondered 
what the area looked like in the daylight.  She could see the lights of 
a ship of some type off to her right. 
Within a few minutes of exiting the bridge, they had entered what looked
to be a residential area of the city.  All of the homes they were 
passing were authentic colonials.  Two story homes painted brick red, 
colonial blue, and white with all the trim and details of the homes 
accentuated.  He turned left at the corner by the Visitor's Center, and 
she noted its location in case she wanted to stop there tomorrow.  Two 
blocks up, he parked in front of a three-story building.  It was 
painted white, with black trim.  Holly trees flanked a large, open 
porch with wicker furniture that invited guests to sit and relax.  The 
place did look nice.  She got out of the vehicle and studied her 
surroundings.  Across the street was St. Paul's Methodist Church, its 
tall spire reaching to the sky above her.  Down a bit was The White 
Horse Tavern, according to the sign. 
She followed as he carried their bags up the steep steps and into the
front entry.  To the right of the foyer was the check-in desk, the 
clerk standing behind thick metal bars.  Julie smiled, wondering just 
how many people had stood at those bars in the past.  As Steve handled 
the paperwork, she studied the walls that were covered by old pictures 
and an antique sign stating what the fines were for certain violations. 
 She noted that the fine for pubic drunkenness at one time had been two 
dollars. 
Steve returned to her side.  "We're in room nineteen, at the top of the
stairs."  He led the way down the hallway and up the carpet covered 
hardwood stairs.  Everything was painted white with the exception of 
the natural woodwork that gleamed in the light.  Three flights up, 
Steve pulled open the heavy, metal door and they entered the narrow 
hallway.  Room twenty-two was on the right, and theirs was the next one 
on the left.  As she waited for Steve to unlock the door she noted the 
heavy metal barred door that closed off the hallway to any of the 
remaining rooms on that level.  Briefly, she wondered if it was locked, 
but Steve had the door open before she could reach over and try it. 
The half moon window she had observed from outside took up a great deal
of one wall.  It was not covered.  It didn't really matter because the 
window faced the church, and the chances of someone being in that 
balcony and seeing them seemed pretty slim.  The room was a suite 
actually, on two levels, with the bedroom on the main level and a 
sitting area and the bathroom on a step down level.  Steve placed their 
bags on the bed and she walked through the sitting area to check out 
the bathroom.  The slanted ceilings and skylights gave the room strange 
angles.  On the tall end of the room, there was a freestanding shower, 
but where the roof slanted there was a large, modern Jacuzzi tub.  She 
knew she was going to like this place. 
She went back into the bedroom and started unpacking her things. 
"What do you think?" he asked. 
"I like it," she answered over her shoulder. 
He grabbed his laptop and headed for the desk in the sitting area.  "I'm
going to work on a few reports for Peter while you take your shower. 
"Okay," she answered, then went to gather her things.  She stepped into
the shower first, cleaned herself and washed her hair.  Then she shut 
the water off and started to fill the Jacuzzi.  Stepping naked out of 
the bathroom, she placed her arms around Steve's neck, dripping water 
onto his shoulder. 
"Hey!"  He turned and noticed her bare flesh.  "Oh, hey!  I like that
look.  Ready for dinner?" 
"Actually, I am a bit hungry.  But not for food.  Come with me, Dear." 
She grasped his hand and pulled him out of the chair.  "That," she 
indicated the laptop with a nod of her head, "will be just fine until 
I've had my appetite taken care of." 
He followed her into the bathroom, removing clothing as he went. 

Julie opened her eyes and looked at the exposed wooden beams on the
ceiling, wondering just how old they were.  She was curious as to what 
this room had been in an earlier time.  She could smell coffee.  She 
rolled over and placed her arm over Steve, who was still sleeping 
peacefully.  The rays of the rising sun danced across their bodies.  
She ran her fingers through the coarse hair on his chest.  It was just 
starting to turn the color of salt and pepper, just as his sideburns 
were turning white and she liked it.  It was a part of her love.  Her 
hand moved lower, across his abdomen, then lower still until she held 
his semi-hard cock in her hand.  Slowly she stroked her hand along the 
length of it, feeling him respond. 
Steve's eyes fluttered open and came to focus on her face.  "Good
morning.  What time is it?" 
She checked the clock across the room.  "Six thirty," she answered. 
"Good.  We've got plenty of time," he answered. 
"For what?" she asked. 
He rolled on top of her.  "For breakfast." 
She smiled and felt his hardness pressing against her.  Their kisses
were hot and hard, their tongues dueling in a lover's dance until he 
moved to her neck and worked his way down the length of her body.  
Kneeling between her legs, he grasped her hips and pulled her toward 
him, causing her to let out a little shriek.  Then giving her one last 
smile, he bent and took her in his mouth. 
The first touches of tongue to flesh were gentle, almost tentative, and
they ignited the passion that was consuming her body.  She thread her 
fingers through his thick hair and held him there, pressing herself 
against his lips as he nibbled on her clit, his tongue flicking across 
its surface.  Giving her pleasure with his mouth alone was not enough 
and he inserted a finger between her folds, stroking through the 
wetness, and fucking her with it. 
She moaned and pulled him tighter against her, the other hand balling
the sheet into her fist.  The pulsing between her thighs built until 
she could stand no more, crying out as she arched her body and held him 
firmly to her.  His movements were smooth and practiced.  He waited for 
her to release her grip, then pulled himself over her, and in one 
motion slid inside of her still contracting pussy. 
He pressed up on his hands, and held himself above her while continuing
to thrust into her.  "I love watching you come," he told her, his 
movements punctuating the words.  The sudden invasion was welcomed.  It 
filled her, and his movements swept her from her brief respite into 
another ride up the roller coaster, building upon her previous orgasm, 
and carrying her over the top and into yet another. 
"Come for me, Honey," she whispered.  "Pump that load deep inside of
me." 
Her encouraging words hit their mark.  "God!  I can't stop it," he
gasped, a look of surprise crossing his face, and he held himself deep 
within her and spilled his seed.  He withdrew and they rolled to their 
previous position. 
He held one arm across his face.  "Whew!  Now I could use a nap." 
She smiled at him and ran her fingers again through the hair on his
chest. 
He took a deep breath, slowly releasing the air.  Moving his arm, he
looked down at her.  "Is that coffee I smell?" 
"I know.  I smell it too," she answered. 
"How about if I run down and get us some?" 
"That sounds wonderful." 
His energy renewed with the promise of coffee, he flipped the blankets
out of his way and swung his feet to the floor.  He put on his trousers 
and shirt from the night before, then slipped on his shoes without 
socks.  Grabbing the room key, he was out the door in less than a 
minute.  She chuckled as she heard him bounding down the steps. 
She rolled onto her back and again stared at the ceiling.  What did she
want to do today?  Last night they had taken a walk part way down 
Thames Street to a place called the Red Parrot Restaurant.  There, they 
had sat at the bar eating stuffed Mushroom Caps and Lobster 
Quesadillas.  The bartender had told them that during the summer the 
place was usually so packed, that they open the front windows and 
people are literally spilling out of the building. 
She had been glad they were there in February.  Something about
exploring this town without having to fight the crowds appealed to her. 
 They had passed numerous shops, too many for her to count really.  The 
historic buildings flanked either side of the brick road. 
She heard Steve coming back up the stairs, heard the floors creak in the
hallway, but when he should have stopped at the door, she heard the 
footsteps continue past.  Her forehead wrinkled as she wondered what he 
was doing.  She sat up in the bed.  Just as she was about to get up and 
check on him, she again heard footsteps on the stairs and the floor 
creaking in the hall.  This time they stopped at the door and she heard 
the key being inserted into the lock. 
Steve entered carrying two cups of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and
two toasted and buttered English muffins on a tray, which he placed on 
the nightstand next to the bed.  From his back pocket he produced a 
folded piece of paper and a booklet.  "Here.  The girl at the front 
desk gave me these for you.  She thought they might help you to get 
around."  There was a map of the city, and a booklet describing many of 
the sights to be found there. 
"That was nice," she said, as she flipped through the booklet. 
"Also, don't forget that Peter is going to meet us for dinner tonight." 
"I won't." 
He leaned across the bed and gave her a peck on the forehead.  "I'm
going to hop in the shower and get going." 
"Okay," she answered, still not looking at him, her attention on the
things he had presented her with.  The map looked like it would be 
helpful.  She quickly located The Jailhouse and orientated herself.  
There was a bookstore just a block from there that she hadn't notice 
when they went for dinner the night before.  Book Em's sounded like the 
ideal name for a bookstore located near a jailhouse.  She would 
definitely have to go there.  The map showed gift shops and restaurants 
located all along Thames Street, which was where they had already 
walked, but west of there was the waterfront, with many more shops 
hidden among the wharfs.  Yes, she would enjoy prowling among the 
colonial homes and businesses.  There would be plenty to do to occupy 
her time alone. 
She continued flipping through the guide.  She had never realized how
historic this area was.  Past presidents had attended churches here.  
George Washington, for one.  The mansions that stood guard over the 
ocean, a testament to the 'Gilded Age.'  The relics of so many eras 
were at her feet.  However, not if she spend the entire day lounging in 
bed. 
Steve emerged from the sitting room, neatly dressed in his suit.  His
dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the shower.  He knelt on 
the edge of the bed and bent down to kiss her goodbye.  "You're sure 
you'll be okay." 
"I'll be fine, and I'll have the cell phone with me if you need to find
me." 
"Okay.  Have fun," he said and grabbed his bag and headed out the door. 
She heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs, and she rose,
dragging the sheet with her to the window, watching as he got into the 
car and drove away.  She stood that way, with only the sheet around 
her, gazing out over the city.  The pristine church across the street 
seemed deserted.  As she turned to head for the bathroom, a piece of 
paper on the table caught her eye, and she picked it up and read it.  
It was a synopsis of the history of The Jailhouse. 
"Circa 1772 Architectural style:  Georgian with Federal Additions Look
for:  Windows on wings and in dormers where jail cells once held 
criminals." 
A shiver passed through her body.  She couldn't imagine what life had
been like over 200 years ago, and she wondered once again what exactly 
this room had been at one time. 
"The jailhouse was build for the city in 1772 by George Lawton and
Oliver Ring Warner, replacing an earlier jail built in 1680 on the same 
location. 
"The first mention of a jail in Newport was in 1658 when it was decided
that  'the prison then was to be the prison for the whole colony.'  
Throughout New England in the 17th and 18th centuries, jails served as 
temporary holding facilities for prisoners passing through the criminal 
justice system, rather than a form of punishment or an attempt at 
reform.  Most infractions resulted in fines or various forms of public 
humiliation such as being brought to the center of town and placed in 
stocks. 
"In 1800, the building was enlarged and in 1888, architect Dudley Newton
renovated it.  According to the Newport Mercury, the jail was "never 
considered a particularly strong place." and there were a number of 
notable escapes.  During the winter of 1859-60, a mason incarcerated 
there removed bricks from around the window and escaped.  He was 
captured when newly fallen snow allowed his tracks to be traced to his 
hiding place in the Ocean House Hotel. 
"The building was the headquarters of the Newport Police Department
until 1986, when a new facility was constructed on Broadway and this 
building was converted to an inn." 
"What an interesting history, but right now, I've got some shopping to
get ready for," she said to nobody in particular.  She stood and walked 
away from the window, throwing the sheet back upon the bed, and heading 
for the shower. 
By the time she was ready, she was itching to get out and see the city. 
Her first destination was Book Em, but the sign in the window said they 
didn't open for another hour and a half.  She decided she would make 
that her last stop of the day. 
She spent the entire day walking along the narrow streets.  Local
artisans displaying their talents in the windows caught her eye and she 
stopped in here and there to see their wares.  The bright sun of the 
day made a jacket almost unnecessary.  It was a welcomed change from 
the snow and wind she was used to at this time of the year.  
Periodically, she'd pass by a home with a brass plaque on the front and 
she'd stop to read its history.  Names she didn't recognize were noted 
on most, but she still found it interesting to read them.  A couple of 
places she noted she'd like to go back to the next day, including 
several of the museums.  Today though, she just wanted to observe. 
As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, she walked along the
waterfront.  She gazed across Newport Harbor and tried to picture what 
it looked like during the summer.  She'd learned from quite a few 
proprietors that she was lucky she was there in the off-season, for 
during the summer you could hardly walk the streets because of the 
crowds.  Right now, the place was almost deserted.  Very few boats were 
tied to the docks and the view of the bay was uncluttered. 
She stopped in at the Newport Creamery for a bite to eat since she
hadn't taken the time earlier in the day.  She knew that when they went 
out for dinner she would have a couple of drinks, and she didn't want 
to embarrass herself in front of Peter by getting silly before dinner.  
She walked across the parking lot, heading for Book Em's. 
She entered the shop accompanied by the small tinkle of a bell over her
head.  The store at first seemed a bit of a disappointment to her.  
From just inside the door, it seemed very small, with three display 
tables in the middle of the room and shelves around the perimeter of 
the room.  Then she noticed a small stairway, three steps up, that lead 
to another level, which also had shelves along the outside, but only 
one display table in the middle. 
"May I help you find anything in particular?" said the tall woman behind
the counter who was placing some books into a box. 
"Not really," Julie answered.  "I'm just looking around." 
"No problem.  I apologize for the lack of inventory, but we're in the
process of moving, and this is the best time of the year to do so." 
"Oh.  Where are you moving to?" she asked. 
"Just a little farther up Thames.  We'll be in a better location there. 
Right now we're a bit off the beaten path, and we could use more room." 
Julie moved into the room and perused the titles.  They still had a nice
array of books, and she selected one that she had seen featured on 
Oprah's Book Club.  Moving to the upper level she found the entire area 
filled with mysteries.  She smiled, thinking that she had found the 
owner's favorite type of reading. 
When she returned to the main level, she stopped to look through a table
of books dedicated to the area. 
"Are you from around here?" 
Julie shook her head.  "No, I'm from the Chicago area.  My husband is
here on business." 
Again, Julie was told this was the perfect time of the year for her to
visit due to the summer crowds.  She'd heard it half a dozen times 
today.  Picking up one of the books from the table, she scanned through 
it.  "Local Lore and Legends; The Haunting of Newport," cited many of 
the places that she had been to or passed by today. 
The woman then approached her.  "I'm Wendy.  If you need anything, let
me know.  Oh," she added as an afterthought, "if you didn't notice, by 
the front door there is a shelf of free books.  I get quite few used 
books brought in here by people, and I give them away.  That's one of 
the reasons why we want the added space of the new store.  On the 
floor, there is a box of books that just came in.  I haven't had the 
time to unpack them yet.  Actually, I'm not sure if I'm going to.  Feel 
free to dig through them.  I think they're mostly romance novels, but 
I'm not sure." 
"I'll check them out before I leave," she answered. 
Wendy then noticed the book she was holding.  "Do you like Anita Shreve
books?" 
"Honestly, I don't know.  It just looked interesting." 
"I just received an advanced copy of her new book.  Would you like it? 
I've got more books on my reading list than I'll probably ever get to," 
she said as she moved over to the counter and pulled the book out from 
underneath. 
"Really?"  Julie asked. 
"Sure, you're welcomed to it.  At least it won't be lying around
collecting dust."  She handed the book over to Julie. 
"Thank you.  That's very nice of you."  Julie reached for her wallet and
paid for the other book. 
"Make sure you check out the free books, and I hope you enjoy you're
time here in Newport." 
"Thank you," she said again, "I will."  She stopped at the shelf by the
door.  Wendy was correct; they were mostly romances and old college 
textbooks.  She dug through the box filled with more dust-covered 
romances and found something that caught her eye.  The cover was dark 
blue with gold accents, the corners worn through and looking well worn. 
 Intrigued, she opened the cover to find that it was actually a journal 
of some type.  She noted some poetry on the first pages.  "Are you sure 
you want to give this away?" she asked.  "I think this is a journal." 
"It's no problem.  We sometimes get those donated.  I usually don't set
them out there.  Most people aren't interested in someone else's 
journal, but if you want it, you can take it." 
"I think I will," she answered, and placed it in her bag along with one
of the romance novels.  "Thank you," she called again as she headed out 
the door. 
Her short walk back to The Jailhouse was accompanied by thoughts about
the journal.  Who's was it?  When was it written? 
She went directly up to her room and got comfortable.  Steve would be
there within half an hour, and then she wouldn't have a chance to look 
at her new books.  Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, 
she settled into the sitting area of the room.  Opening the journal, 
her attention was drawn to the beautiful, flowing handwriting that 
spread across the pages.  Julie was so engrossed, that she hadn't heard 
Steve and Peter coming up the stairs.  She was still sitting on the 
sofa, the journal open on her lap. 
"Honey," Steve started, "This is Peter Dourman.  Peter, meet my wife
Julie." 
Peter extended his hand.  "Nice to finally meet you," he said. 
She mentally shook her head to clear the cobwebs.  "Oh, it's nice to
meet you too."  His hand firmly gripped hers, but not to the point of 
hurting.  She stared up at him, momentarily at a loss as what to say.  
He was very handsome and approximately fifteen to twenty years older 
than her husband and herself, but he was very distinguished looking.  
He was tall, and looked very handsome in his navy suite and red tie. 
He looked down at what she was reading.  "Did you have a good day
checking out our city?" 
Her voice finally returned.  "Oh, yes.  There is a remarkable amount of
history in this area." 
He studied her again.  "You like history?" 
"I find it very fascinating." 
Steve had watched this exchange and now a slight smirk crossed his lips.
Peter leaned forward.  "What are you reading?" 
She glanced down at the book.  "It's someone's journal.  I got it today
at Book Em's.  The owner of the shop gave it to me, along with a couple 
of other books." 
"Wendy?  She's a nice lady.  I've talked with her a couple of times." 
"Well, she was very nice to me.  The journal was in a box full of used
books she had just gotten in," she explained. 
Peter sat next to her on the sofa while Steve took the chair across from
her.  "I remember that she does that.  Take books in, I mean." 
Julie continued.  "This seems to be the journal of a woman who lived
around the time of the Civil War.  I'm not sure yet what her name is.  
Apparently, she was married and her husband went of to fight in the 
war.  Here," she said, handing the book over to him.  "Take a look for 
yourself."  As the pages shifted a piece of paper fluttered to the 
floor. 
"What's that?" Steve asked, indicating the paper. 
They looked at it and hesitated, as if they were afraid to touch it with
their bare hands.  Finally, she bent forward, picked it up and 
carefully unfolded it. 
"It's a letter from her husband," she said.  "Her name is Jane." 
"What does it say?  Read it out loud," requested Peter. 
She nodded.  "Dearest Jane," 
"We have been told that we will move again, perhaps even as soon as
tomorrow.  That being, I've felt the need to write you one last time.  
I have known for some time that it has been God's will for me to be 
here.  I know how great a debt we owe to those who went before us 
through the blood and suffering of the Revolutionary War.  And I am 
willing - perfectly willing - to lay down all my joys in this life, to 
help maintain the Government, and to pay that debt. 
"I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when
two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the 
last, perhaps, before that of death - and I, suspicious that Death is 
creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my 
country, and thee. 
"Jane, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with
mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love 
of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly 
on with all these chains to the battlefield. 
"The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come
creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I 
have enjoyed them.  And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to 
ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have 
lived and loved together and seen our children grow up around us. 
"I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but
something whispers to me - perhaps it is the prayer that I shall return 
to my loved one unharmed.  If I do not, my dear Jane, never forget how 
much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, 
it will whisper your name. 
"But if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around
those they loved, I shall always be near you.  In the garish day and in 
the darkest night - amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours - 
always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall 
be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be 
my spirit passing by. 
"Jane, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we
shall meet again. 
"Daniel" 
"Wow," she gasped. 
Peter took the letter from her hand and examined it.  "Julie, did you
notice the address?" 
"No.  What is it?" 
He looked at her and then at Steve before answering.  "Right here, at
The Jailhouse.  What do you think the chances are of you being the one 
to find this journal?" 
Steve snorted.  "Pretty slim," he agreed. 
"You mean she lived here?" Julie asked. 
"It looks that way," Peter started.  "There could be a number of reasons
why.  It's possible that she worked here, and lived on site.  The lower 
level rooms are all quite small, which is probably where the original 
jail cells were.  The second level's rooms are larger, but I think that 
level was used for meetings and that at some time the rooms were 
partitioned into guestrooms.  This level, I think was the living 
quarters for the Magistrate, or Sheriff, or whatever they were called 
at the time.  It's possible that she was his servant - a maid, or a 
cook possibly.  There might have been a servant's quarters also on this 
level, or maybe in the attic," he offered. 
"Do you think the current owners would know?" she asked. 
"Maybe," he answered.  "I tell you what.  Let's go grab something to
eat, and we can talk about it some more. 
"Okay," she answered. 
Steve stood.  "Julie, do you need to change for dinner, or do you want
to go in what you're wearing?" 
"You look good to me," Peter added. 
She blushed and looked down at her sweater and jeans.  "I suppose I am a
bit underdressed for you two.  Just give me a few minutes."  She went 
to the closet, grabbed a black and leopard print pantsuit and stepped 
into the bathroom. 
A few minutes later, she returned to the sitting room.  She got the
feeling that she had interrupted their conversation, judging by the 
silence that seemed to greet her.  She went to get her shoes, and could 
only overhear slight whispers between the two. 
"Okay, what are you two discussing?" she asked. 
Peter stood and grabbed his coat.  "We'll talk about it later.  Before
we go though, I need to stop at the front desk.  I think I'll stay here 
tonight rather than drive home.  I do that a couple of times a week.  
Otherwise I have a two hour commute every day and that gets so 
tiresome." 
Steve helped her into her coat and they headed out the door. 
"Where are we going?" Steve asked. 
"I thought we'd go to the Mooring.  It's got a nice atmosphere,
overlooking the bay, and they have great food and good wine." 
"Is that just beyond Banister's Wharf?" she asked. 
Peter smiled down at her.  "Yes it is.  You did learn a bit of the area
today, didn't you." 
They had reached the front desk and Peter stopped to get a room key. 
She noted that the girl at the desk didn't have him fill out any 
paperwork and that she called him by name. 
The evening had turned quite chilly, and the wind whipped in off the
water.  They decided to take Peter's car since it was parked closest to 
the door.  Steve insisted that she sit in the front with Peter.  The 
drive passed within a few minutes, mostly in silence. 
They entered The Mooring and checked their coats.  They were shown to
their table in front of one of the windows, the lights from the 
opposite side of the harbor twinkled in the darkness.  Peter ordered a 
bottle of Hess Select for the table, and they all studied the menu.  
After placing their order, their conversation finally returned. 
They learned that Peter had grown up in the area.  He spent some years
working for a company in Mexico, then retuned to his hometown to work 
in the family business.  He had been married once, when he was young, 
and had never had any children.  Julie told him about how they wanted a 
family, but as of yet had been unsuccessful.  Julie was still struck by 
how good-looking Peter was, and idly wondered what he had looked like 
as a child. 
The waitress arrived, delivering a platter of steamed muscles in wine
and they discussed how seafood, sailing, and the fishing industry were 
so important to this community.  Peter's knowledge of the history of 
the city was astounding. 
Just as they finished their meal, Peter mentioned that he had a friend
at the Newport Historical Society that might be able to help Julie find 
out more details regarding the journal.  Julie found Peter to be a very 
interesting man.  His life seemed just the opposite of her and Steve's 
upbringing in the Midwest. 
By the time dinner had finished, she realized the wine, and the fresh
air and walking from earlier in the day was starting to take its toll, 
and she was ready for bed.  They returned to the Jailhouse, using their 
key to enter, as the front door had already been locked for the 
evening. 
Once in their suite, Julie peeled off her clothes made a trip to the
bathroom, and climbed into bed.  Snuggling into her pillow, she felt a 
sort of bone deep weariness sink in.  Soon Steve joined her, sliding 
behind her and wrapping his arm around her. 
"Are you awake?" he asked. 
"Just," she murmured.  She was starting to drift off, then thought Steve
had asked her something.  "What?" she asked. 
"I asked what you thought of Peter." 
"Oh," she paused, not sure how to answer.  "I like him.  He's very
intelligent."  Her voice slurred a bit as she forced herself to stay 
awake.  "He's led a very interesting life." 
"So, what do you really think about him?" 
The fuzziness in her head was hampering her thought process, and she
frowned into the darkness, wondering what he was getting at.  "What do 
you mean?" 
He snuggled a bit closer to her.  "I mean, do you like him enough to
want to sleep with him?" 
Now she thought her mind really was playing tricks on her.  She rolled
over and looked at Steven in the darkness.  "Did I hear you right?" 
He chuckled and kissed her on the forehead.  "Yes." 
"Where did THAT come from?" 
"I was watching you two tonight.  Almost from the minute you met, there
seemed to be a connection of sorts.  It felt like an attraction, and it 
got me to thinking.  You know I've always had the desire to watch you 
be with someone else.  This could be the perfect opportunity.  I know 
he finds you attractive.  He said so while you were getting ready for 
dinner tonight." 
She tried to choose her words carefully before she answered.  "I'll
admit I felt it too.  He is very good-looking, and his life experiences 
just add to his personality and make him even more attractive, but I 
didn't actually think of sleeping with him.  Do you really think it's a 
good idea?" 
"I don't know," he shrugged.  "I don't even know if he'd do it.  I'm
just pointing out a possibility." 
She was silent for a bit, letting it sink in.  "I'll think about it,"
she said finally. 
"Good."  He kissed her again, this time on the lips.  "Now, go to
sleep," he said as he rolled onto his side away from her, pulling her 
along and against his backside. 
She wrapped her arm around him, sliding it down along his hip, then
thigh, then up between his legs.  "After that bombshell, you want me to 
go to sleep?"  She knew he was smiling. 
"I thought you were tired." 
"So did I, but I've changed my mind."  She held his cock in her hand,
gently stroking it, feeling it grow firm against the softness of her 
fingers.  They stayed in that position for a long while, her stroking 
him, pressing her body against him.  He moaned and thrust into her 
hand, his breathing quickening.  She considered letting him get off 
like that, wanting to feel his cum coat her fingers, yet when she 
thought he was close to coming, he rolled onto his back and pulled her 
up on top of him. 
"Wait," he said.  She felt him reach for the light on the table next to
the bed.  "I want to watch you." 
The bright glare of the light made her eyes snap shut, slowly fluttering
open to adjust.  He grasped her by her hips, raised her up and slowly 
sunk the length of himself within her. 
"Oh!" she gasped out.  They held still, feeling her muscles tighten
around him, and feeling him get even firmer, the pleasure engulfing 
them.  He pulled on her hips, rocking her back and forth, creating 
friction against her swollen clit. 
Her eyes were wide open now.  "God, it feels so good.  I can feel it
already.  Please, don't stop," she pleaded.  "Just like that." 
Steve bit his lip for a moment, looking her in the eye.  "You are so
fucking sexy when you come.  I want to watch you do it for Peter.  Show 
me how you're going to make him come.  You want to come for him don't 
you?" he whispered.  "I want him to see how sexy you are." 
The images that passed through her mind fueled her desire, and within
minutes, she was doing just that, crying out as she came, bucking 
against Steve as he held her tightly against him, and joining her in 
orgasmic pleasure. 
Afterwards, he turned off the light, and she curled her body into his. 
Sleep finally overcame her.  Several hours later, she awoke with a 
start, sitting straight up in the bed, while the reverberation of the 
scream echoed off the walls.  All she could hear was the eerie silence. 
 Nothing moved anywhere - outside or within the walls of the Jailhouse. 
Maybe she had dreamed it.  Steve hadn't stirred.  She lay back down and
stared again at the old beams over her head.  The sun was just starting 
to turn the sky lighter.  It was too early to get up. 
She thought again about the journal, Steve and his proposition
concerning Peter, and she just plain thought about Peter.  Would she 
really be able to go through with it if Peter did agree?  There was no 
doubt in her mind that she was attracted to him, but enough to have sex 
with him in front of her husband, she didn't know.  When her mind 
finished humming with possibilities, she again drifted off to sleep. 
The sun was already shining brightly through the half moon window when
the alarm jarred them awake.  Steve again brought her coffee in bed, 
then went into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 
When he came back out and he was almost ready to leave, she remembered
the scream in the early morning hours. 
"Steve, did you hear a woman scream last night?" 
He gave her a strange look, then averted his eyes.  "Um, no.  Why?  Did
you?" 
"Yes," she answered.  "It was really weird." 
Steve was again looking at her strangely. 
"What?" 
He sat down on the edge of the bed.  "Last night when you went to get
ready, Peter and I were discussing that book you got.  He asked if 
anything weird had happened while we were in the room.  I told him, 
'Not that I know of.'  He also asked if I noticed the locked gate just 
beyond our door, and I told him I had.  That's when he told me a woman 
apparently haunts the building.  During the summer season, they don't 
notice much of it happening, so they have those rooms beyond the locked 
gate available.  In the off-season it seems to be more noticeable, so 
they just close off that area." 
"You're kidding!" 
"That's what he said.  Whether it's true or not, I don't know.  I didn't
want to tell you about it because I didn't want to freak you out.  
Especially since you are here during the day by yourself." 
"What kinds of things have happened?" she asked. 
"I don't know.  We didn't get that far into the conversation.  When I
get to the office, I'll have Peter give you a call." 
She thought about the footsteps from the day before.  "Please," she
requested.  "I'm not freaked out about it, I just find it very 
interesting." 
"Okay."  He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. 
She sat there for a while, then got out of the bed, slipped on her silky
bathrobe and went to retrieve the book.  She returned to the bed, 
propped up the pillows and carefully opened the book in her lap. 
Reaching for her coffee cup, she said aloud, just in case the ghost
could hear her, "Well Jane, are you the one who is causing all the 
problems in this Jailhouse?" 
For a moment she just looked around the room, half hoping, half scared
to death there might be a reaction of some type.  Calling herself a 
superstitious fool, she returned to the book, now looking at it in a 
new perspective. 
When she heard footsteps on the stairs again, her mind raced and she
wondered if it was the ghost.  She held her breath, listening to them 
getting closer.  The knock on her door made her jump.  Her heart was 
beating quickly as she stared at the door.  It was the classic scene 
from horror movies, when you wanted to yell at the actors, 'Don't open 
the door!'  Then the thought occurred that maybe it was Steve.  Maybe 
he had forgotten his key.  She jumped up, went to the door, and pulled 
it slightly open.  Standing before her was Peter. 
He smiled down at her then noticed how pale she was.  "Are you okay?" 
She released her held breath and smiled back at him.  "Yes.  I'm sorry. 
My imagination was just running away.  Come in," she said, as she 
opened the door completely. 
He came through the door, slightly ducking to make sure he didn't hit
his head.  As she closed the door behind him, she realized what she was 
barely wearing, and pulled the sash on her robe a bit tighter before 
she turned. 
"Steve's already left for the office," she offered. 
"Oh, I thought I might catch him and we could ride together.  That way
if you wanted to use his car today, you could." 
She sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, a hint of thigh
peeking out between the folds.  "That would have been an excellent 
idea, if we would have thought of it sooner."  Nervously she ran her 
fingers through her hair, trying to tame the long tresses. 
"Don't do that," he said. 
She blushed.  "It's a rats nest in the mornings." 
He studied her a moment longer.  "I like it.  Makes me wonder what you
went through to get it that way." 
She blushed even redder, thinking about what they had done the night
before.  She searched for a way to change the subject.  "Oh, Steve told 
me about this place being haunted.  Is that true?" 
Peter sat in the chair next to the bed.  He was within touching
distance, and she felt her heartbeat flutter again. 
"From what I've heard, it is." 
"What kinds of things have happened?" 
"Nothing too outrageous.  Just that people have seen glimpses of a
woman, in various places in the building, but mostly up here.  Some odd 
cold spots have been reported in some rooms, things moved from where 
they were, that type of thing.  There were also some reports of people 
hearing a woman scream." 
Julie turned as white as the robe she was wearing. 
"What's the matter?" he asked. 
She swallowed before answering.  "I heard that." 
"When?" 
"This morning, early.  It was just starting to get light out." 
"Did Steve hear it too?" 
"No.  Another thing that happened was that yesterday morning Steve went
down to get us some coffee.  I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and 
thought it was Steve coming back, but the footsteps continued past our 
door.  He said you told him that they keep that gate locked at this 
time of the year.  There is no way someone would have been able to keep 
walking past our door without stopping to unlock that gate.  Just after 
that, Steve came back, and I didn't think about it again." 
Peter visibly shivered.  "This is strange.  In all the times I've stayed
here, I've never had anything happen to me." 
She had goose bumps herself.  She was embarrassed to realize that her
shivers had caused her nipples to pucker and protrude against the thin 
fabric of the robe.  If she didn't make a big deal about trying to hide 
it, maybe he wouldn't notice.  Looking at him, she realized it was too 
late. 
He was intently staring at her.  Maybe Steve was right.  The attraction
she was feeling towards Peter was mutual.  She would have reached for 
her coffee, just a sip to calm her nerves, but she knew her hand would 
have been shaking badly.  Instead, she stood and went to the small 
refrigerator to get a bottle of water.  As she bent to grab one, she 
offered him one also.  He didn't answer immediately, and she looked 
over her shoulder to ask the question again.  The sun was shining onto 
the room, warming it, and he seemed to be sweating. 
"Peter?" 
He looked at her face then.  "Oh, sure," he said. 
She bent to retrieve another.  When she stood up and turned, she
immediately realized what she had done.  Not only was her thin gown 
white, and made almost translucent in the sun, but when she bent 
forward, he could see completely down the front of it in the mirror 
next to the refrigerator.  Her cheeks flamed again as she handed over 
the bottle.  Peter opened his immediately and took a couple of long 
gulps, draining it of half of its contents. 
Julie felt she had to say something to diffuse the situation.  "Sorry
about that.  I wasn't expecting company after Steve left." 
Peter took another swig of the water.  "It's okay.  I probably shouldn't
have come here without first knowing if he was here.  But I have to 
admit, you look sexy as hell right now." 
She closed her eyes and wondered if she'd ever stop blushing around him.
 "Please stop," her voice was just above a whisper, "at least for now." 
Opening her eyes, she noted his look of confusion.  Deciding she might
as well be honest with him, she cleared her throat and continued.  "Let 
me explain.  The fact that there is an attraction between the two of us 
is something that is not only obvious to me, but it's apparently 
obvious to Steve, as he's the one who made me realize what it was that 
I was feeling."  Peter started to say something, but she held up her 
hand.  "Let me finish."  She smiled at him. 
"That isn't a bad thing.  There is something you have to understand
about our relationship.  We love each other dearly, but we both 
recognize each other's desires.  One thing that he has always wanted, 
is to watch me make love to another man.  Not because he thinks it's a 
sluttish thing for me to do, but more because he is proud of me and 
wants to see how another reacts to my attention."  She took a sip of 
the water.  "Quite honestly, I'd like to do something with you right 
now, but I won't until Steve is here.  I love him too much.  Does that 
make sense?" 
Peter finally smiled back at her.  "You're not only sexy, but you're
classy too."  He stood and walked over to her.  "You've been more 
honest with me than many women I've known.  If you like, I'll stay at 
the Jailhouse again tonight, and we'll just see what happens." 
"I'd like that," she answered. 
He bent and brushed his lips across her own, a hint of a shiver passed
through her body.  This was a tease of what was yet to come.  He left 
without looking back. 
When he had been gone for quite some time, she rose, removed her robe,
and went to take a shower. 
As the hot water cascaded over her body, and the steam, swirling and
rolling around her, she played that last scene over in her head.  She 
knew now that she would go through with it, if it did somehow happen.  
She imagined all sorts of ways in which things could develop.  She 
hoped her nervousness wouldn't show.  Finally, she decided that all her 
worrying was probably for naught.  What ever happened would be meant to 
be.  She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her hair, 
and another around her body. 
Stepping back into the bedroom, she noticed immediately that the
blankets on the bed had been smoothed in an area, and the journal now 
sat in the middle of the spot.  The book was open to a page she had not 
yet gotten to.  Cautiously she sat on the edge of the bed and turned 
the book so that she could read it. 
"I have received a letter from Daniel.  While he says he hopes he will
return to me, I know in my heart he will not.  I knew when we met that 
he had a special dedication to this country.  He had dreamed of being a 
Captain, and it was not for me to change that.  If it were my will, he 
would be here to see the first days that his own child lives - a child 
he knows nothing about - but it will not be so.  I have readied all 
that I can for its arrival and pray I will be able to endure the pain 
of being alone.  Some day I will be able to tell the child how their 
father was a man to be proud of, but right now that is a small 
consolation." 
Julie wiped away the tear that slipped down her cheek.  What this woman
had to have been going through amazed her.  Briefly, she wondered why 
the book had been opened to that particular page.  What was she trying 
to tell her?  She skimmed the next part filled with poems.  Two pages 
later, the entry caught her eye. 
"The child has arrived and he is to be just as his father, strong,
beautiful, and loved by all.  I feel it.  Let it be God's will.  I have 
named him William Andrew Dourman." 
Julie stared at the name.  It seemed to glow on the page.  Why did it
seem that it was important for her to recognize it?  What was Jane 
trying to show her?  Dourman.  She repeated the name again.  Dourman!  
She saw the connection - Peter Dourman! 
Quickly, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Steve's number. 
"Steve, are you busy?" 
"I'm just going over some reports.  What's up?  You sound excited." 
"I am," she answered.  "Steve, could you do me a favor and have Peter
call me?" 
"Actually, he just got here a little bit ago and he's standing right
here.  Hold on."  There was a pause in the line while the phone was 
handed over. 
"Hi," he said. 
"Hi.  Peter, what is the name of your friend at the historical society
and how can I reach them?" 
"Her name is Claire Beaumont.  Hold on, I'll look up her number for
you."  She heard him moving.  "555-2015.  That's her home number.  Did 
you find out something interesting?" 
"I think so, but I want to check it out before I tell you guys about it.
Tell Steve I'll have the cell phone with me if he needs me." 
"Okay.  Good luck, Julie" 
"Thanks," she said and hung up. 
She raced to get dressed then called the number Peter had given her, and
made the arrangements to meet Mrs. Beaumont at the Historical Society's 
headquarters. 
Mrs. Beaumont met her at the front entry to the Historical Society
building.  She was approximately 70 years old and looked every bit the 
part of a head librarian - white hair, white sweater over her belted 
dress, bifocals suspended by a chain that hung around her neck. 
"Mrs. Beaumont?"  She reached for the woman's hand.  "I'm Julie Petrie."
"Oh please, call me Claire.  Come and sit down."  She gestured to a long
cherry wood table in the next room.  "You have some questions, you 
said." 
"Yes.  I have a journal that I'm fairly sure is authentic, but I'd like
to do some research on the people mentioned in it to see if I can put 
the pieces of a puzzle together." 
"That shouldn't be a problem.  The library here is quite extensive. 
There are books, church and land records, newspapers on microfilm, 
periodicals, even computers to cross reference the data.  Also on 
computer are lists and details of all the items we have had donated to 
the Society.  Everything is open to the public.  I'll show you where it 
is and if you need any help, you'll find me in the office down the 
hall."  She stood then and led the way.  "You said you got my name from 
Peter?" 
"Yes, that's right," she answered. 
Claire had a smile on her face, and for a minute, a far away look about
her.  "Such a nice man.  If I were only 20 years younger," she laughed. 
Julie smiled, because she knew exactly how the woman felt.  There was
just something about Peter.  He had a certain charisma. 
They went down the hall and turned into a large room filled with rows of
shelves.  Several computers sat on a table in the middle of the room. 
"It might be easiest to start there," Clair suggested, pointing to the
computers. 
"Thank you.  I will."  Julie sat down and pulled out a notebook she had
purchased on her way there. 
She started first by doing a search on the Jailhouse, taking notes on
anything she thought might be important.  Then she searched by Jane, 
William, and finally Daniel Dourman. 
The day passed quickly and her notebook was filling up.  She had one
more thing to check when her cell phone rang. 
"Hello?" 
"Hi Hon, where are you?" 
"I'm still at the Historical Society, but I'm almost finished." 
"Do you want me to pick you up?" 
"No, it's okay.  I'll walk back.  It's only a couple of blocks." 
"Did you find out anything?" 
"A great deal.  What do you have planned for tonight?" 
"Well, I talked Peter into staying another night at the Jailhouse, so I
thought we'd all have dinner together." 
She smiled at the thought of 'Steve' talking Peter into staying the
night.  "Perfect.  Have Peter pick out a place where we can have a 
nice, private conversation, but nothing too fancy." 
When she returned to the Jailhouse, Steve and Peter were already waiting
in her room.  They were each drinking a beer. 
"Hi," she said, as she bent to give Steve a quick peck on the lips. 
"Have you two decided where we are going?"  She noticed they had both 
changed into casual clothes. 
"We thought we'd go to Mudville.  It's right down the street," Peter
said. 
"Are you two ready to go?" 
"Sure," said Steve tossing his can into the garbage.  She noticed there
were only two cans left of the six-pack as he put them in the 
refrigerator.  She also wondered if they both felt the need for a 
little false courage for what might be coming later on.  Truth be told, 
she could use a little herself. 
Mudville was a quiet little pub with dark wood tables that lined the
outside of the room on three sides.  The bar came out of the fourth.  
Television screens and sports memorabilia covered the walls.  Peter 
filled them in on the background of the business.  It was located along 
the right field of a baseball diamond, and during the summer months, 
you could sit and watch the games on the outdoor patio, totally 
protected by fencing.  The owner was a former Boston Celtic, and many 
Boston sports stars frequented the place.  Due to it being off-season, 
business was slow and they could comfortable carry on a conversation 
without having to worry about others overhearing. 
They ordered drinks at their table, along with Mudville's highly
recommended roast beef sandwiches. 
"You two are only going to be here two more nights, right?" 
"Yes," Steve answered.  "I've still got some meetings on Friday and my
flight first leaves at 6PM, but Julie's flight goes out at 9:30 in the 
morning."  He turned to Julie.  "You know, I never thought about that.  
How are we going to get you to the airport?" 
"I guess I figured I'd see if there was a shuttle or something," she
answered. 
Peter looked at them for a minute, his brow creased as if considering
their dilemma.  "There is, but it's not necessary.  I can take you to 
the airport.  I don't have any meetings on Friday until after lunch." 
"Are you sure?" Julie asked. 
"It's not a problem.  I'll be staying at home Thursday night, so it
should work out fine." 
The waitress arrived with their drinks, congenially welcoming everyone
to the pub, and calling Peter by name. 
Julie smiled at him.  "Either you come here often, or you made a good
impression the last time you were here." 
He returned her smile, a bit of mischief making one of his eyebrows
raise.  "Maybe it's both," he suggested. 
They all laughed then, their nervousness starting to fade away. 
"Actually, I do come here quite often when I stay at the Jailhouse. 
It's close, the food is good, the prices are decent, and it's an 
interesting place.  I like to people watch when I'm here by myself.  
Did you meet with Claire today?" he asked Julie. 
"Yes, and she said to tell you she sends her love." 
Peter smiled fondly. 
"She seems to be quite smitten by you." 
"Oh really, Peter?"  Steve put in.  "Is there a bit of a romance there?"
Peter's deep chuckle was his answer.  "There might have been if one of
us were born at a different time.  There are almost 30 years between 
our ages, and we just have a fondness for each other.  Was she able to 
help you?  You said you had discovered something." 
"Oh yes, she was very helpful.  This morning after I got out of the
shower, I read another part of the book."  She kept the details of how 
she had found the book open on the bed to herself.  That was between 
Jane and herself.  "In those pages, she says that her baby had been 
born, and she said what she named the baby."  Her excitement over the 
discovery registered in the slight acceleration of her speech. 
'Well," Steve prompted, "What was it?" 
She looked at Steve, then turned her attention to Peter.  "William
Andrew Dourman." 
"You're sure?" Peter asked. 
"Yes."  She pushed her plate aside and pulled out the notebook she had
filled with her notes. 
"And you think that Jane was related to me?" 
"I'm not really sure, but there is a good chance.  It appears that
Daniel and Jane were married in 1860, and William was born in 1861.  
Jane did stay on working at the Jailhouse, as the 'house woman' they 
called it.  She oversaw the domestic help at the Jailhouse for the 
Sheriff until the time of her death." 
"Apparently, she married again after it was assumed that Daniel had
died.  That was in 1864." 
"Wow, I never thought that journal would lead us to something like
this," Steve said.  He ordered another round of drinks.  Nobody was 
eating any more.  "How was she killed?" he asked. 
"When William was only 5 years old, a man killed Jane as he tried to
escape from the jailhouse.  He was later hanged for the crime.  I don't 
now what happened to William after that." 
Peter seemed to consider that for a minute.  "It is conceivable that
William Dourman is a distant relative.  This is like being on Jerry 
Springer and being told you have a long lost relative." 
"There is something else.  When I researched the Jailhouse, I found that
the haunting started soon after she was killed.  The Sheriff had all of 
Jane's personal items gathered and taken to the attic.  When the 
Jailhouse was closed in 1986, all of the items that were found in the 
attic were donated to the Historical Society.  Among the items that 
were found was a small portrait of William as a child."  She reached 
into her bag again and removed a small box.  "Claire has recorded that 
this is in your possession, Peter."  She removed the lid and placed it 
in his hand. 
He stared at the portrait, his eyes glistening with the tears that
formed.  Finally he spoke.  "If I had any doubt before about William 
and I being related, you have just removed them."  He set the portrait 
on the table and reached for his wallet.  Searching into a back 
compartment, he removed a small picture, its edges frayed and torn from 
many years of being carried around.  He handed it to Julie while Steve 
picked up the portrait.  The resemblance was unmistakable.  It was 
almost the same pose, the same tilt of the head, the same juvenile 
twinkle of mischief in the eyes. 
"Oh my God!" Julie gasped. 
Steve looked at Peter.  "You've been carrying this picture with you? 
For how long, and why?" 
"For more years than I remember.  Probably close to 20.  My mother gave
it to me.  She told me to never lose it as it was the only one that was 
taken of me at that age." 
Their bill arrived and Steve picked it up and went to pay. 
"Thank you, Julie.  I'm not sure yet what it all means, but I never
would have known about any of it if you hadn't checked into it." 
She smiled at him then.  "You're welcome.  I enjoyed researching it." 
Steve returned with their coats then.  "Are we ready?" 
When they reached the Jailhouse, Steve asked Peter if he'd like to come
to their room and finish the beer.  He looked at Julie to see her 
reaction.  She smiled and he agreed that he would. 
Walking into their room, Julie noticed immediately that something was
different.  The bed had been turned back, and a candle that she hadn't 
noticed in the room before was lit, flickering, casting the room with a 
soft light. 
"This is nice," she said. 
"Yes it is," Steve agreed.  He took their coats and hung them in the
closet, then reached for the beers and handed one to Peter.  "How did 
you arrange this?" he asked her. 
She looked at him confused.  "I didn't have anything to do with it." 
They both looked at Peter.  "Don't look at me, I didn't plan it, but I
do like the way it makes Julie look in the candle light."  He was 
standing behind her, between the bed and the mirror over the dresser.  
He looked at Steve as if asking for permission.  Steve nodded, then 
took a seat in the chair across the room. 
She watched Peter smile at her in the reflection.  Slowly he removed her
clothing, then discarded his own.  Moving to the bed, he lay down 
beside her. 
With hands and mouths, they touched and tasted, exploring each other,
learning the places that produced moans and gasps for breath.  At one 
point, she had looked over at Steve.  He also had removed his clothing, 
and now sat holding his cock in his hand, slowly stroking it, smiling 
reassuringly back at her. 
"I love you," she mouthed, and turned her attention back to Peter. 
When she could stand no more of the exquisite torture, she pulled Peter
over her body.  "Please love me," she simply said. 
He leaned forward and kissed her then, joining their mouths as he joined
their bodies.  She wrapped her legs around him, tilting her hips and 
allowing for very deep penetration.  Repeatedly, he thrust into her, 
driving her closer to the edge.  The room faded around them.  There was 
only the two of them moving in the motions performed from the beginning 
of time.  He continued to murmur words to her as they moved together as 
one. 
When she finally came, she cried out, telling him with her body that the
time had arrived for him to join her.  Their cries echoed through the 
room. 
They lay next to each other, their bodies spent, their breathing
beginning to return to normal.  She opened her eyes briefly when she 
heard Steve move closer to the bed.  She noted his cock was glistening 
with his spilled cum. 
Gently he climbed into bed along her other side.  Leaning over, he
kissed her on the lips.  "You're beautiful," he whispered.  With that, 
the three fell asleep. 
When she woke in the morning, Steve was holding her.  He was awake and
watching her.  She somehow knew Peter was already gone. 
"I love you," he whispered. 
She smiled back at him.  "I love you too." 
After Steve left for work, she stayed in their room for the majority of
the day, leaving only to get something to eat, and then returning.  
Sitting on the bed, she read the journal, cover to cover.  She learned 
all that she could from Jane because she knew what she was going to do. 
The following morning Peter showed up right on time to take her to the
airport.  It was the first time she had talked to him since the night 
they were together.  As they drove, he pointed out different sights, 
places she hadn't been able to see at night on her ride into Newport.  
When they reached the airport, she told him there was no reason for him 
to come in with her, but she did want to talk to him about something.  
He turned in his seat to face her. 
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the diary.  She held it out to
him.  "I want you to have this." 
He shook his head.  "No.  It's yours.  It means too much to you." 
"It would mean so much more to me, if I knew you had it.  It belongs
with you." 
He accepted it then.  "Are you sure?" 
"Yes, I am.  Goodbye Peter.  Thanks for everything."  She paused,
looking him in the eye.  "I mean that - everything."  She bent and 
kissed him one last time, and then she was gone. 

Julie held the phone to her ear as she stood in front of her bookshelf,
studying the three pictures that were displayed in a row.  "Thank you 
for sending copies of those pictures.  We have them along side of the 
most recent one taken of Andrew."  The same poses, the same tilt of the 
head, the same juvenile twinkles of mischief evident in all of their 
eyes. 

THE END

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are
either the product of the author's imagination or are used 
fictitiously.  Any resemblance to persons either living or dead, 
events, or locals is entirely coincidental.