Ghost of Christmas Past

I had moved into the big old house early in the Fall of the year. Thankfully the weather stayed warm and dry enough to allow needed repairs and restorations to take place, and I'd inherited enough money when my Uncle died to allow me to contract enough workers to get it all done rapidly and well. I hadn't expected the inheritance. My father had died when I was young and mother had raised me as a single parent afterwards. We never had much but I'd never lacked for the necessities. She managed a home, food, basic education, and my clothes, while not top of the line, had been warm and functional -- even stylish on occasion.

Mother had one brother. He was a perpetual bachelor who I eventually realized was likely gay, but he'd been the only person remotely resembling a father figure in my life and I adored him. I went to him with all my troubles and secrets, not my mother -- I told him about my first crush and first kiss, and went to him in distress when my first period convinced me I was dying. He'd taken it all in stride, listening, educating, consoling when needed. I had no idea he'd saved his money for so long or that he'd leave it all to me instead of perhaps creating a foundation for his beloved cats and beagles. At any rate, I was now the proud owner of the Victorian era 'Painted Lady' mansion overlooking the Mississippi River.

Pulling into the long drive I stopped the car for a moment to enjoy the view. Externally, at least, the old girl had been restored to her former glory her gingerbread trim shone in the late afternoon sunlight and the windows gleamed. As I pulled around to the back and carried the groceries up the stairs and into the kitchen I grimaced. Now, if only the interior matched the exterior, I thought ruefully. Unpacking my few supplies and putting them away I uncorked a bottle of white wine and poured myself a glass. One step at a time, I thought...and one room at a time. My bedroom had been re-plastered and freshly painted. A new window seat graced the big bow window with plush pillows and cozy, crocheted throws, making a restful reading nook, or a spot to while away an afternoon watching the river flow by, daydreaming and napping. My big brass bed graced one corner near the fireplace. A cheval mirror reflected the light from the window and revealed my Uncle's last surviving cat, a rescued Siamese named Bandit, curled among the pillows and throws on the window seat.

Wandering back into the hall I paused at the door to the main bathroom. The room had been enlarged by encompassing part of the original nursery -- a room that wouldn't be needed at any point in the near future. I was pleased with its progress so far. One of my contractors had found an deep, old, cast iron tub. There were some beautiful blue cameo style Italian tiles around the room and the fixtures were deep blue, Italian marble -- a pedestal sink, lavatory and bidet. At the far end of the room there was a glass wall partition providing privacy for a large shower compartment with multiple shower heads, as well as a hand held shower feature and bench seating. The doors could be closed and the room could actually be used as a sauna too, having separate heat and steam capabilities. It was a surprisingly modern feature for the old Victorian home but I saw no reason why the restoration couldn't provide some comfort and amenities as well.

But that was about the extent of the completed restorations thus far. Downstairs the main living area was a work in progress, the dining room was...usable but barely. The kitchen had some basic functionality -- an ancient 1950s era range/oven combination and only slightly newer fridge/freezer allowed me to shop, store food and do some basic cooking. A rickety old drop leaf oak table and some cracked and painted kitchen chairs completed the furnishings. After the living room/parlor I thought the kitchen might be my next project and daydreamed about marble or granite counters and the possibility of finding a very modern functioning range and oven that looked like an old fashioned wood stove. Pouring myself another glass of wine I thought I might spend some time later internet searching that. Meanwhile I headed off to build a fire in the main room and wondering if wood stove looking heaters could be incorporated into room renovations upstairs.

After a brief dinner of a small premade salad from the store I settled onto the couch in front of the fire with my laptop and a last glass of wine. I found a cooking appliance that combined an antique look with near modern versatility. It was, at least something I thought could be both functional and suitably retro looking. I was just generally surfing around now -- looking at heaters and chandeliers, lamps and other furnishings.

My own personal tastes ranged from Art Deco to Edwardian, without the overblown and too crowded look of some Victorian era refurbs and I had just gotten up to wander through the house, debating paint colors, wall paper, drapes and rugs. I was passing the small room that, at one time had been the Master bedroom's dressing room, when I experienced a sudden chill and became aware of noise and clatter. The door was ajar and a low light flickered within the room, drawing me closer. Peeking through the door I almost gasped aloud, instead pressing my hand over my mouth to keep quiet.

Inside the room there was a small wood stove glowing cheerfully with flame, a copper pot on top of it steamed gently in the cool air of the room. A hip bath rested on a braided rug and a woman rested in it with her back to me. Her auburn hair was piled in a mass of curls on top of her head and I could just glimpse a hint of an aquiline profile. One pale, slender arm rested on the rim of the bath. A young maid, appearing just out of her teens, leaned over the bath pouring in bath oil redolent of summer flowers, before she lifted down the steaming copper to add hot water to the tub. I could just hear the soft murmur of feminine voices but not understand their dialogue. Kneeling beside the tub the maid picked up a soft sponge and began to bathe the occupant. Soft, languorous sighs filled the room when the maid paid particular attention to some areas of the bather's body.

The room seemed warmer now and my hand had left my mouth, moving further down my own body, cupping my breasts, fondling nipples and sliding between parted thighs. I had no thought that what I was seeing must be a dream...could not, in fact, be really occurring in my home at this moment in time. I was simply enthralled and, admittedly, aroused to be watching. Finally the maid put down the sponge, going to fetch the bath sheet from where it hung, warming by the fire. The woman in the tub stood and I was finally able to see her full figure. Soft, heavy breasts lay against her chest, their tips crowned with large, dusky rose colored areola and long, thick nipples. Her slender waist flared to full hips and, as she turned and bent to climb from the bath, I was able to feast my eyes on the rosy, swelling lips of her vulva nestled between creamy thighs.

She was, it seemed, perfect, and I envied the maid as she stroked and patted her mistress dry. The candlelight flared obscuring small details. I could not see the color of her eyes, or if her clit peeked from under its hood. But I knew that the color of her bush matched the hair of her head, and that the lips of her mouth were naturally full and rosy. When she spoke I saw healthy, white teeth and her nails, although short, were rounded and buffed to a high shine. She put one foot onto a small stool, allowing the maid to dry her legs and the private areas between. As the serving girl stroked and patted with the towel her mistress gasped softly, her head fell back on her shoulders and I could see those pearly white teeth clamping down onto her bottom lip. Her hands reached out, clinging to the maid and pulling her closer. The young girl dropped the linen, using only her hands and mouth now on her mistress's secret places. Large eyes, heavy lidded and luminous with desire stared into the darkness. I could swear she was staring directly at me and I eased further back into the darkened hallway.

I woke with a start when the laptop hit the floor with a heavy thump. The fire had burned to embers and the room was chilly now. I was cramped where I lay curled on the couch and was both still confused and aroused by my apparent dream. Finally able to stretch and move, I put some heavy logs on the embers to keep until morning. In bed I tossed and turned, alternately dozing to dream of auburn curls and heavy breasts, waking to turn restlessly and doze again. Finally, toward morning, I settled into a deeper, although still restless, sleep. She filled my dreams again, walking the high balcony -- the widow's walk -- and I wondered if there was a husband or lover she watched for? Her trimly corseted figure always seemed busy, but never hurried. She moved like a ship under sail, always smoothly elegant whether gardening among the flowers and vegetables or serving tea to rector and neighbors.

But when she was alone, in private or with her personal maid, she was a different creature -- passionate and free. Perched in the window seat in her room with her skirts around her waist she would touch herself, stroking and rubbing, fingers buried deep inside until she stiffened and came, then licking her fingers free of her nectar. Bending her maid over her bed and lifting her skirts so she could kneel, licking and nuzzling at the younger woman's pussy. I didn't know her name, or anything about her, other than that she had occupied this house...and still did in some ways.

I was rummaging through one of the local 'antique' shops thinking junk shop was a more appropriate designation. Occasionally I would find a treasure during such forays though. I'd picked up candle holders and oil lamps, kitchen utensils and cookware to hang as décor, and other oddities I could and would use. There was an old fashioned ladies drop front desk that I found for twenty dollars and unbelievably an antique wing chair for fifteen. Once the chair had been recovered in a deep mauve satin the upholsterer offered me several hundred dollars if I'd let him keep it for display. But I'm happy with it sitting in my main room. Today I thought I could see the back of a frame that might hold a nice old silvered mirror. I finally managed to dig through things to reach it and turned it around...and gasped. It was a painting -- a portrait to be more exact -- and it was her. A younger woman than I was used to dreaming about -- in her first flush of womanhood. Her eyes, if the artist was accurate, were the deep gray green of summer storm clouds and her smile held the barest hint of a dimple.

With the help of the portrait I was finally able to go to the library and newspaper office and identify her as Madeline Carstairs. Her grandfather had established the first trading post and tavern here on the river, and her father had followed by building Carstairs' Dry Goods and the Carstairs' Hotel and finally the Carstairs' Café. Between them they'd left her a fortune that local legend said was buried somewhere on the grounds or within the house itself. Carstairs Junior had built the (then) mansion for himself and his new bride. She had fallen ill after giving birth to Madeline and he had never remarried. Legend and gossip said that Madeline had loved a river boat captain but her father had refused permission for them to marry, believing the man was interested in his daughter primarily for her wealth. Some gossip held that they had married secretly before he sailed off never to return but no one knew for certain. She became known locally as Miss Maddie and was a great supporter of the local school, library and a small theater. Annual trips were made to Chicago and St. Louis with her maid for dress shopping and attending opera and ballet but she lived her solitary life in the big house overlooking the river, and ruling over what local society existed then.

As if knowing all this totally unlocked my dreams I was now seeing her almost every night. My dreams weren't always sexual in nature but she was a sensual woman with strong desires. Sex with her maid, Agnes, seemed to keep her free of public scandal as some, more traditional liaisons might have led to. But I was always especially pleased when dreams of her led to more tangible evidence of her sensuality. She was a beautiful woman and my own nipples and pussy would echo her arousal and desire. I was, it seemed, falling deeply in lust and infatuation with this woman from a prior century and I could only wish that my dreams of her were truly reflective of who she was. It might, God knows, have been a total fantasy and fabrication generated by living here and trying to refurbish the grand old home.

As Thanksgiving approached, dreams of Miss Maddie began to reflect the seasonal change. Vases of bright maple and birch leaves filled window ledges and nooks. Polished copper and brass reflected the fall sunlight from candelabra, and small pots and décor on mantels and tables. Crystal goblets filled with walnuts, acorns and cranberries added bright hints of color while wreaths and swags of bittersweet and ivy hung from windows, banisters and porch rails. I did what I could to mimic the décor I'd seen in my dreams, adding small pumpkins and gourds inside, Indian corn and larger pumpkins outside. I'd hired a local girl to come in several times a week to help with cleaning, and an older man who could assist with gardening and outside chores. It was, I think, a mark of how well things were progressing when the local paper came to take pictures of the renovations.

I'd gone to town to shop one afternoon, coming home with my few groceries and some bright sunflowers for a copper cider jug I'd found and polished. As I pulled into the long drive I paused, as had become my habit, to appreciate the changes in the house and enjoy the look of the house. The late afternoon light reflected strangely off the parlor windows for a moment, giving an appearance of someone in the room, but I knew that Patsy wasn't due today. Shaking my head as a cloud passed over the sun and the light altered again, I pulled around to the back of the house. I was going to have to have Glenn make some room for my car in the old carriage house soon otherwise when the snow started my car might be buried deep. I took my purchases into the kitchen and stepped into the main room briefly to get the cider jug from its spot on the mantel. Catching my breath I stopped, first in fear and then in wonder at the sight of Miss Maddie wandering the room, touching things here and there. She lingered briefly over a basket of small pumpkins and gourds, touching one. Her lips quirked in a smile and she looked up across the room at me, nodding in approval before she vanished.

That night she came to me as I slept. Icy lips trailed kisses from the corner of my eye to my temple and down to my own lips while the covers were drawn down to the foot of the bed, exposing that I slept nude. She murmured approval and chill touches tweaked my nipples to hard points. I started to speak but she laid fingers across my lips, then completely silenced me when her lips covered my own. I gasped when frigid fingers parted the folds of my sex, sliding into the heat and wet within. I had never been so excited. The chill of her touch against my body made my head spin and roused me to a fever pitch. I could feel my clit where it throbbed, begging for her touch and attention, but she took her time.

My climax, when it came, was shattering and left me a trembling mass of gooseflesh and muscle cramps, shuddering in her arms. I tried to roll us over, wanting to love and please her as she had me but each time I tried she evaded me, seemingly turning to mist in my arms before returning to press kisses on my lips and neck or nibble at breasts and belly before tonguing me to another wrenching orgasm.

The dreams continued and I saw how she and her staff prepared for the Christmas holidays with masses of fresh evergreens and holly and bright candles scented with bayberry. Her house smelled heavenly and glowed in my twilight dreams. I did my best to recreate it adding splashes of bright red, apple and peppermint scented candles, and bundles of holly and mistletoe. She continued to visit me sporadically and always as a surprise. Once, while showering, the hot steam turned to fog and her chill form pressed against me from behind, hands creeping around me to cup a breast and cuddle my vulva. She let me lean back against her, supporting me while her fingers brought me swift satisfaction. I'd always believed that no one, but another woman, knew how to truly pleasure a woman -- but this ghost woman knew best of all.

I was often startled to see her semi clad form wandering the house, until I realized that the cat, Bandit and I, were the only ones privileged to see her. I came into my room one afternoon to change shoes from a shopping trip and found her spread out in the window seat wearing only her corset and a negligee. The silky lace was spread out, pooled around her as she fingered herself. The contractor on the ladder outside, hanging red beribboned wreaths in the windows was completely oblivious and unaware. I wanted to go to her and bury my face between her creamy thighs. I could hear the wet, slurping sounds her fingers made, moving in and out of her depths and I wanted to taste those juices and make her moan and cry out with pleasure as she did me. But once again she vanished as I moved toward her.

As the days grew closer to Christmas I observed how fascinated she was with the little LED fairy lights outlining the grand old house and wrapped around the big nine foot evergreen in the main room. Outside I was partial to the use of the tiny white lights and draperies of icicle lights hanging from the high roof lines and guard rails. Inside I preferred the warmth of the little multi colored lights but a strand of white lights wrapped around the tree trunk itself gave depth to the tree and allowed placing and viewing more ornaments. And ornaments I had in plenty. Hundred year old mercury glass treasures that my grandparents had hung from their Christmas trees to handmade ornaments I had crafted as a child and younger woman. They all found room on the big fir in the curve of the stairwell. And I often found Maddie by the tree, eyes and face reflecting the warmth and colors she contemplated.

On Christmas Eve I sat on the sofa, in front of a fire, sipping wine and meditating on the events of the past year. It had been a year of enormous change for me and I could only hope that this trend would continue. Maddie's cold hands covered my eyes from behind as her soft voice murmured, 'Happy Christmas dearheart' in my ear. I was wearing nothing but a loosely tied, heavy satin robe in hopes that she would visit that night, and I laid back against the throw pillows, untying the sash and parting my robe. She chuckled and moved over me wearing her usual corset and lace negligee. Frigid fingers cupped a breast and tweaked an already hard nipple. Her other hand slipped lower over my belly, hip and thigh, leaving a rash of gooseflesh in its wake before sliding between my folds.

As often as I'd experienced it now, I still had not accustomed myself to that first start of shock and thrilled excitement at feeling her cold touch against my warm skin. My hips surged up to meet her touch as her icy digits plumbed my wet depths. Finding my G-spot with unerring instinct she pressed and rubbed while her thumb feathered and caressed my clitoris. I arched under her touch begging her to 'love me' and in response she rained kisses over my face and breasts. I well knew the futility of reaching for her but did it anyway and was surprised, this time, to make contact with her waist and hips. I pulled her close, turning us both on the narrow couch so that I could press against her, sliding my thigh between her parted legs.