Blood Bound

Chapter 2

In the days and weeks following my arrival, life at the Blackwood estate was largely uneventful. I'd been relegated to laundry duty, most likely because it was a dull routine that Mrs. Parsons thought I might not mess up. Every morning, I reported for duty and waited in line with the other housekeeping staff as she inspected our uniforms and issued instructions for the day. I often wondered why she checked us so carefully, given the dark interior. I could have slept in my uniform, and no one would notice a wrinkle or two in this lighting.

Once dismissed, I'd pass by Jackson's office, surreptitiously sneaking a glance inside. Occasionally, I'd see him working at his desk, and he would glance up and offer a smile or a nod. The slightest acknowledgements sent electric sparks through my body.

It was curious how we barely knew each other by conventional means, but I felt as if we had an understanding. Somehow there was a greater meaning in our daily exchanges than would appear on the surface. Several times, his eyes locked with mine, and I felt as if I couldn't move or breathe for breaking the spell he seemed to have over me. I tore myself away and continued my work, not daring to risk making Mrs. Parsons angry.

Occasionally, I also encountered Joel as he sauntered around the house. He usually offered a comment or an unapologetically forward proposition. I suppose it would be dishonest of me to say it wasn't completely unpleasant. I certainly didn't like it, but it wasn't entirely bad.

I continued my daily trek, hauling a huge, rolling laundry cart to the top floor of the mansion. There I heaved the cart from room to room, pulling the linens from each bed and replacing them with a freshly cleaned set. I collected towels and washcloths from the bathrooms and replaced those as well. Even though there were few people living upstairs, and even fewer guests, I'd been instructed to clean all of the rooms so they'd be ready at any time should they be needed.

Over time, I found the routine comfortable and almost therapeutic—almost. At least I was away from Mrs. Parsons's glower for several hours each day. I worked my way downward, going through each level until I reached the basement again.

The laundry facility beneath the mansion occupied a large section of the basement. There were several commercial washers and dryers, as well as commercial irons for sheets. Every afternoon, I pulled the warm linens from the dryers and fed them through the rollers of the pressing machines and folded them into tight squares. I loaded them into the laundry cart for delivery the next morning. My thoughts would drift to Jackson as I worked, wondering what he might be doing or thinking. Did he think of me too?

It made no sense really. I knew my brain had regressed to the mentality of a middle school aged girl as I worked all those hours alone, listening only to the rolling thump of towels tumbling in the wash. I tried bringing a book with me, but it was difficult to stay focused. It seemed no sooner than I started reading, a buzzer would interrupt. Duty would call me back to the present, and my thoughts turned again to Jackson.

I couldn't shake him from my mind. As crazy as I knew it might sound, occasionally I felt him near me. At times, the sensation was so intense I'd turn to look around the room expecting to see him there. Each time I did it, I felt so stupid, losing control of myself. It was foolish to think someone like Jackson Blackwood might have the slightest interest in someone like me. This mental torture continued for weeks as I struggled to convince myself I'd imagined it all. Just when I believed I'd disciplined my unruly thoughts, the furnace broke down.

I awoke before dawn to the sound of footsteps and muffled voices in the hall. My room was freezing! I quickly dressed in my uniform and rushed down the corridor where a group of other staffers had gathered. Mrs. Parson's disembodied voice barked orders from somewhere near the kitchen. She was apparently directing someone to start fires in the first-floor grates. I stood by the housekeepers hoping for information. I leaned toward them to hear the discussion, and caught someone whispering about possible frozen water pipes.