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| The Florida House on S. 3rd St. on Amelia Island, FL |
Readers often ask me about specific places in my historical Goodbye Lie series, set in Fernandina on Amelia Island, Florida. They want to know what is real and what comes from my imagination. So I did a walk about and took some photos. The Florida House is one such structure that is standing today. Originally built as a boarding house for railroad workers in 1857, it is the longest running tourist hotel in the state.
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| looking at the two story Florida House from the back courtyard |
At book signings downtown here, I often point to 3rd Street and tell folks to walk to the Florida House, just a block off our historic Centre Street. I direct them to go inside and through to the back courtyard. I have set several scenes there amongst the live oaks and pretty fretwork of the place. In the bar, in the front of the hotel, things happen. Let's just say they are "less than friendly." Hey, it's a bar, isn't it?
Here is an excerpt from The Goodbye Lie featuring The Florida House. The year is 1882. -
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| What awaits Breelan Dunnigan up those stairs? |
Chapter 18
The drive from Dunnigan Manor to the Florida
House seemed especially slow despite the brisk tempo of the horse's trot. Not a
word passed between the young couple. Breelan was silent in case her tears
would anger him further, and he for fear she'd continue crying ...
Despite the darkness, he was well aware of her secret attempts to
wipe away the evidence of her unhappiness. He could feel her hushed sobs
vibrate the carriage. What the hell was she blubbering for? He was the one
who'd been tricked... He steered the buggy along side the hotel's granite stepping-stone.
Helping Breelan out, he warned, "Enough of this. I won't have it. Do you
hear?"
She nodded. He was right. She straightened
her skirts and inhaled a deep breath of cool river air, while he threw coins
to the attendant, directing him to return the horse and carriage to the stable
for the night. They climbed the steps of the long, two-story establishment
and entered ...
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| the trunk of an ancient live oak tree |
Breelan loved to come to the Florida
House. She'd never actually stayed in any of the rooms before this, but her family
oft-times ate in the dining room after Sunday morning mass at St.
Michael's. Railroad folk as
well as sailors, vacationers and locals all frequented it. How often had she
climbed the old live oak in the back while the grownups pontificated over
coffee and dessert? Now she was one of those grownups ...
After registering and exchanging niceties with the desk clerk, they were shown to a
second story room. It was quite
lovely. The wallpaper spoke of romance with tiny bouquets of pastel flowers and
a matching coverlet on the canopied double bed. The window trappings of lace
would merely filter the moonlight. It could be an enchanted place if the
circumstances were right.
"I will leave you to your unpacking,
Breelan. I'll be downstairs in the tavern." He caught the look of
concern she cast his way. "Don't worry. I'll take heed of my drink. I
won't let you go unattended in such a pretty room as this," he said caustically.
He quietly closed the door behind him and
she breathed a sigh of self-comfort. He was gone. She was free if but for a
moment. He had mistaken her look for concern. It was not. In truth, she hoped
he would imbibe to excess tonight and every night, so he would never be able to ...
The hour grew late and he didn't return
to the room. Worn out, Breelan was still wide-awake. Her mind darted madly from
her family, to where she would live, to her job, to the gossip, to... The cacophony in her head was generously peppered with the words and
features of Waite. There was his handsome face, his hair, his eyes, his lips.
In part or as a whole, the likeness was exact. It teased and tempted her until
wriggling among the tangled covers of the bed a minute longer would surely
bring her more tears, those of hopeless frustration. She had to get out of the
room, to feel the stirring of the breeze against her hot, flushed cheeks.
Concealing her nightdress beneath her
cloak, she descended the rear stairs, intending to refresh herself in the rain
barrel out back. She splashed the cool water on her cheeks. It trickled down to
her elbows, tickling her to irrational giggles. She languished in the luxury of
laughter. She hadn't laughed since, since when? She couldn't remember. Resting
the heels of her hands on the edge of the barrel, she hung her head. "I
wish this were the ocean. I'd put my toes in the water and let the cool waves
creep up my ankles. I'd ..."
"You'd what, Breelan?"
She heard the resonant voice seek answers
softly in her ear. She responded longingly, "Oh, Waite. You'll never know
how I wish you were real and with me and able to tell me all the things I want
to hear. It will never happen for us. Never. I deserve to suffer... But to make you suffer, too. If what Nora says is true and
you really love me, I can never forgive myself for causing you pain. I pray you
find someone to fill your mind and bed. Don't waste your life pining for me, my
love. If only that kiss I dreamed of on your ship had been real. If I could
feel your lips touch mine, I could tolerate whatever comes. I ..."
She dreamed he was behind her. He was
grasping her shoulder, turning her quickly, pulling her against his unyielding
body. She dreamed his arms were around her, holding her fast to him. Then his
mouth was on hers, hard. His breath rasped from his lungs. She breathed him
into her and tasted his soul. His essence was all male. Every thought she'd
ever had of how superb his kiss would be was surpassed in this illusion. Thank
God for her dreams. They belonged solely to her. The fear of hell would never take them from her.
"Bree, Bree," he said against
her lips.
And she felt strong hands on her wrists.
They pried her arms from around his neck, similarly opening her eyes to
reality. It was no dream. Waite's glorious face was before her in the night and
his eyes danced. Here in the dim moonlight, she could only stare at him. She
placed her hands on his mildly whiskered cheeks, ran her slender finger the
length of his scar and kissed it. He kissed her in return, taking her lips between his. He held her again and this time she rubbed against
him, making him moan from somewhere deep within.
Glass shattered as a disagreement broke
out in the bar. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything, but kissing
him. Still, the insistent tinkling of the crystal continued to interrupt her
pleasure. It was taking him from her. "Don't let me go. Please, don't ever
let me go," she whimpered as he pushed her away and held her off.
"Breelan. Breelan." He had again
taken advantage of her. He knew it and for that too short moment, he didn't
care. He was thinking only of himself. He would pay later. He tasted her on his
lips, and she was finer than he'd remembered in all the nights he'd lain awake
and all the times he'd walked the deck of the Comfort. He wanted her so badly. He wasn't sure his willpower would
win a contest with his loosened desire ...
He shook her from her splendid stupor.
"Bree, you've got to hear me. With all the craving a man can endure, I
want you. Do you hear? Do you understand me? I want you. Finding that you feel
the same brings me such joy, I can hardly ..." Waite was unable to finish
his sentence. "Knowing the truth at last was worth all the hours of agony,
all the uncertainty of guessing if you cared for me. I love you and realize you
love me. You do love me, don't you? It isn't merely a physical attraction
between us, is it? Tell me it's more."
"Waite Taylor, you've got to feel my
love. It's so alive in me, I think I can reach in, grab hold of it, and show
you. Believe me, believe I love you. And only you." She answered breathlessly,
leaning into him, trying to make him hold her again.
"Then, when I die, I'll be
smiling."
*****
All novels in Jane Marie Malcolm's trilogy,
The Goodbye Lie,
Amelia Island's Velvet Undertow and
Amelia Island's Mark of a Man are available as ebook and paperback at book sources everywhere. Find online or just ask at your local bookstore.
