As the older man spoke, the room where they stood continued to change and emerge from the lingering mist. Looking around, Justin saw that the wallpaper depicted Victorian pastoral scenes in Wedgwood blue, the floor was polished to a high shine and the wood was free from the mysterious stain that Susan had discovered. All around them were signs that the house was ready for a celebration. “Emma loved working with plants, so I had the greenhouse built as a wedding present for her and we held the ceremony within the greenhouse. Emma had use of the downstairs room to ready herself.” Pointing to the door that Justin knew from Susan’s ghostly experience was Emma’s prison during the long months of her pregnancy, Archibald said, “I came in to verify her readiness to begin the ceremony, and came upon Emma and her father, Buford, arguing.”

While Justin stood watching, Archibald faded from sight and moments later he reentered the room through the front door, wearing a wedding suit of brushed silk. He saw the older man walk toward the slightly ajar door, but Archibald paused in the process of lifting his hand to knock. Turning his head slightly, he listened to the voices within. Unable to hear what was being said from his place near the stairs, Justin stepped forward until he could not only hear the voices, but could also see the persons who were arguing.

Standing in the room and looking out past the drawn curtains, was Emma. Her father was adjusting his bow tie in a large mirror propped up to the side of the door, his face flushed red with anger over the subject being discussed. As she turned from the window to face her father, Justin could see that tears were pouring down Emma’s cheeks as she spoke. “Father, please! Do not force me to marry that man. I have no love for him!”

“Shut up, girl! You will do as you are told and you will appear happy to do it,” Buford replied, moving to face his daughter. “Promises have been made and my word has been given. You will not dishonor me by jilting Brackleburn!”

“Father, I will never love him. Please do not doom me to a life of unhappiness,” Emma cried, beginning to twist her lace handkerchief in her hands.

“Loads of marriages begin without love. In time, you will come to have feelings for your husband. If not love, then at least the deep affection for the father of your children,” Buford said, as he brushed tears away from her flushed cheeks.

“But, Father,” Emma whispered, staring down at her feet, “I am in love with another man.”

Justin jumped with surprise at the force with which Buford back-handed his daughter. “Damn you, you little fool!” Buford raged, spittle flying from his mouth. Taking Emma by the shoulders, he shook her with each word. “A debt is owed and will be repaid! You will marry Archibald Brackleburn today and never again will you speak of loving another.” Finished with his daughter and unable to bare the sight of her, he thrust her toward the window and a straight backed chair, which she gently eased herself onto.

His eyes cold with iced fury, Archibald slowly opened the door and entered the room. Upon seeing the other man, Buford’s rage turned to embarrassment, “Why, Archibald, you should not be here. Bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

Glancing over at the young woman, Archibald took in her disheveled appearance and the flaming handprint that stood out in contrast to the stark whiteness of her face. With the façade of a concerned, loving husband, Archibald moved to kneel before Emma, the charade complete unless one looked into his eyes. “Emma, my dear, what is the matter? Why do you cry on your wedding day?” he asked, cupping her chin within the palm of his hand and lifting her face to look at him.