Ghost Memories Read Online Free Page A

his love for only days, but it felt like eons.
    It was late, however, when they returned to port. He wouldn’t try to see Victoria or contact her that night; he would wait until morning, and head straight for O’Hara’s public house. The family was warm and wonderful, coming and going from Ireland, some embracing America and some returning to the Old Country.
    They knew of his love. And they all seemed to be in love with love, and certain that all would end right.
    Anxious, and dreaming of the morrow, he headed home through dark and empty streets.
    His lodging house was quiet as well, not a man about, and certainly not the mistress of the house, his landlady. He did not expect many to be up at this hour, but he hadn’t even seen the usual drunks in the street. No matter; he gave it little thought.
    He fell back upon his bed, exhausted, yet not quite ready for sleep. He took a small measure of rum, swallowed it down and stared at the ceiling, dreaming. He loved Victoria. He truly loved her. She was goodness and purity with spirit and vivacity—and she loved him, as well. They would make it work.
    He closed his eyes, content and anxious, dreaming of Victoria and their future.
    He felt a soft touch upon his cheek, and his eyes flew open. He smiled. He’d dreamed her touch, just as he dreamed her there.
    â€œMy love,” Victoria said, and a kiss fell upon his lips, as gentle as the air. She seemed to float above him.
    â€œI am all right—I am better where I am, for I chose the ending. I could not live with the memory of you, and the touch of another man,” she said. “But now, you must rise. You must not lie here. You are accused. They will be coming for you. They will want you dead.”
    â€œVictoria, don’t fret! No one will come for me. All is well. I am here now. My trip was a great success. We will have many powerful friends. I will convince your father that we can marry, that I can be the husband you deserve and a provider who is strong and resilient and good.”
    He heard something outside, some major commotion.
    â€œRun, you must run!” she told him.
    â€œNo, my love, I have nothing to run from,” he said.
    The commotion grew louder.
    He was looking at Victoria, and then he wasn’t.
    She wasn’t there; she had been nothing but a dream. A confusing dream, for he couldn’t understand what she had been trying to tell him.
    Had he been sleeping?
    Then his door burst open. He jumped at the sound, and reached for his sword. He wanted to be a man of business, but he had long been a seaman. He had seen much of war, and he had roamed the seas as a privateer—awakened suddenly, he would always reach for his sword.
    He was stunned when men began pouring into the room—David Porter’s men, and a few citizens of Key West.
    â€œBartholomew Miller! You are under arrest for murder!” cried out a lieutenant.
    Aghast, stunned, he faced them all with his sword.
    â€œI have committed no murder!” he cried.
    â€œFoul bastard!” shouted another man, a citizen. “You raided the ship Annabelle Lee , causing her to sink. You butchered her crew.”
    â€œI did no such thing!”
    â€œYou even murdered the young and innocent Victoria Wyeth and her maid!”
    â€œWhat?” The single word didn’t explode from his mouth—it was a whisper of disbelief.
    They were lying. What words had come out of the man’s mouth were so abominable they couldn’t be true.
    â€œNo!” he cried, an eruption of horrified protest. “What are you talking about? Victoria Wyeth was on no ship. She is home, certainly—she is home in bed, sleeping.”
    â€œVictoria Wyeth was on the Annabelle Lee , heading north to Virginia at her father’s command—to escape the likes of you,” the lieutenant informed him.
    â€œAnd you did draw her out and murder her, in cold blood,” another cried.
    He shook his head.