His Haunted Heart (6 page)

“June, look who I found!” Eliza may as well have danced through the kitchen as though finding me was a prize. She talked to June as an old friend.

If my mother had talked to me with half the heart that Eliza spoke to June, my heart would’ve never longed for anything more.

“I’m so glad you could join us. We need fresh gossip at this table,” June said. Her words rose and fell like humming. June was a plump woman, but not like Eliza. She was solid and thick—there were muscles in her arms that would rival any mans. She must’ve worked very hard for the family.

I took her passive suggestion into account.

I felt like this was a test. If I participated in the gossip, I would look like a sinner—gossip was always admonished from the pulpit. But if I didn’t participate, I’d never fit in with these two women who were tethered to my new life’s happiness.

I sat down and smiled, choosing the path more traveled.

“It’s amazing what you hear while washing others’ clothes.”

Eliza looked shocked, grabbing her ample bosom and gasping. “You worked? What kind of father makes his daughter work at such laborious endeavors?”

“Mine. And yes, I washed clothes for three households.”

June sighed as she placed the last platter of shrimp and grits out on the table. “The only gossip we get around here is secondhand from Porter. And it’s from the outside, so we don’t understand half of the things he speaks of. He always returns with a smile on his face though, and that’s worth the time away.”

If the outside was such a dastardly place, then what about it made Porter happy?

“I would love to hear some stories,” I spoke up. “They’re all new to me. I know nothing about the outside.”

Before I could serve myself, a massive dollop of the savory shrimp was piled on my plate along with grits, eggs, and a stone of a biscuit. This was the first of many choices that were taken from me that morning. Eventually, I simply sat back and allowed Eliza to dress up the already elaborate choices on my plate with butter, jellies, and salt.

I had more condiments on my plate than I usually had actual food.

For the rest of the meal, I listened to the now third-hand stories of Porter and the world that I’d never known. June and Eliza told them with such gusto that a stranger would’ve thought they were speaking of a conquistador and his conquests.

I skirted my food around the plate for the most part, using the empty spaces as proof that I’d at least attempted to eat my fill. My stomach became jittery at my second cup of coffee and added to my nervousness which never seemed to vanish.

This morning I was allowed to help with the dishes and the cleaning. Without Porter around, the chores seemed more communal and less like the owner and the help. Everyone was freer in spirit in his absence.

Except me—there was no denying my longing for his presence.

I felt exposed without Porter’s shadow.

“What do we do the rest of the day?” I posed the question to both of the women in the kitchen who, to me, were on equal footing.

“Well, I need to go to town to visit the butcher. We need more ham and then something for supper.” June’s answer was swift.

“And I—what do I do, June?” Eliza turned to June who was already set on completing her task, grabbing a coat and tying a well-made bonnet on her head.

“Today, you’re embroidering my new handkerchiefs and you eat a lot.”

My eyes bugged out while both of the women chuckled at the dig—an open joke to them.

“Oh, Delilah, I’m not offended. I’m quite proud of my robust appetite.”

“Robust—there’s a fitting word.”

This time, I joined in the fun. Until a low-drummed clearing of the throat interrupted our fun. Everything in my from the heat in my belly to the tingling in my chest knew it was him. The atmosphere in the room hummed with a looming seriousness—even the ceiling moaned at the swift metamorphosis.

I turned around to face my new husband and expected the happiness that visiting the outside was told to have brought him. He was breathtaking. He wore a suit, but the fashion was nothing that I’d ever seen in The Rogue. The seams were crisp, the lines were precise and well-tailored—nothing compared to his rattily stitched pants of the day before.

Everything about him was so exact, it was as though he was crafted by a machine.

But there was no smile or even a sliver of happiness to go with all of the well put together man in front of me. My heart shriveled at the knowing. Of course he wasn’t happy anymore—I was what he had to come home to now.

He would probably never return home happy ever again.

Those women—the women who relied on that happiness should’ve been warned. Beware ladies, this is the last time I will be happy—enjoy it.

“Not a good trip?” Eliza brought forth the obvious.

“It was a good trip. Everything was handled pretty fast. That’s why I was able to come home early.”

He spoke to his mother—I’d realized that he reserved a special tone just for her and while he used that tone, his eyes never left mine.

Breakfast curdled and coiled in my stomach, revolting against the death of my surety that this marriage would be okay—maybe even good.

“That’s excellent. Can we get you anything? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great. Thank you.”

My eyes left his stare and darted around the room in desperate search of somewhere to hide. He made me feel translucent.

I shivered as I found no prospects and against my better judgment looked at him again. Something stewed within him.

“Are you well today, wife?”

How was it that one word could hold two very different connotations? When he called me wife in the shadows of this overwhelming home, it felt like a promise. But when he called me wife just a second before, it felt impersonal—out of touch.

“I am well, and you?”

I knew how he was. He didn’t have to tell me.

“I’m cold. The wind has picked up. It’s a shame. I thought we’d take a tour of the property today, but I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

His words aggravated me.

“Let’s go into the sitting room. There’s a good fire in there.”

I was going through the motions, returning the kindness from the night before. I didn’t know how to be a decent wife any more than he knew how to be a husband. I hadn’t had a good example, so winging it was the best I had.

He walked in a taxed manner, his steps half the gait of what I’d remembered.

“Would you like to lie down? Or I could get you something to eat.”

He sat at the chair that was much bigger than the other and scooted the smaller chair closer to the fire. At first, I thought it was for me, but then he shucked his shoes and one by one perched his feet up, wiggling his toes.

I wrung my hands, waiting for his answer.

“Have you eaten?”

“I have.”

“I don’t like to eat alone. I’m fine here. Thank you.”

I found a stool with a pincushion top and dragged it closer. June brought in a tray with coffee and despite his denial, he ate the biscuits that she brought as well.

“You ate.” I praised the effort.

“I wasn’t alone.”

I waited a few more moments before broaching the subject I was most interested in at that moment. “What is this fashion?”

I waved an arm, gesturing toward his suit, so strange to me, yet completely attractive on my husband.

“This is what businessmen wear on the outside. I didn’t have a chance to change. I wanted to get home as soon as possible.”

I didn’t ask why and I didn’t have to. At my next breath, his rough hand was on my cheek. His knuckles skimmed along my face before tucking a stray hair behind my ear. I was breathless against the motion. It warmed me from face to feet, never faltering.

“Why?” The word tumbled from my mouth without permission. Inherently knowing his meaning wasn’t good enough for me. I wouldn’t insinuate anything in this case. I needed to hear the words—even if they weren’t what I’d assumed.

“Because I have a new wife that I hardly know.”

“What would you want to know of your new wife?”

He looked at the fire and pulled off the jacket, then loosening the long tie around his neck.

“Anything—everything.”

“It will be a short conversation.”

He ignored my quip. “How many siblings do you have?”

“I have two, Adele and Elaine. They are both married.”

“I had one brother, a baby who died at six months old.” A clap of thunder rumbled outside, as if the clouds were angry with him for bringing it up.

“He was in a high chair and he kicked against the table and hit the back his head on the buffet. His grave is in the back. I’ll show you one day.”

I stretched my back, relieving it of the curved posture that came with sitting on the tiny stool. “Come sit up here. I think this chair is yours now, anyway. It never fit anyone here.” He took his feet down. The seat was overwarm from being next to the fire.

“And your father?”

He fisted the thigh of his pants. “He died of a heart attack. His appetite put mother’s to shame. We are supposed to be talking about you.”

I pouted my lip and his eyes targeted the motion with great interest. “I have to learn about you too.”

He smiled. “Yes, that’s true. What did you do this morning?”

“I took a walk around the grounds, but not far—just to the barn.”

Porter stiffened with my words. “Was anyone out there?”

“Yes. Rebel? He must be the stable boy.”

“He’s supposed to be the stable boy. He’s very good at avoiding his job. Did he say anything to you?”

“Not much.”

Rebel had said plenty to me, both in speech and movement, but I didn’t want to alarm Porter. Our conversation flattened after the mention of Rebel. The only noises in the house were his breathing and the crackle of the fire. I wanted to find out more about him, but there had to be a better way than this ridiculous back and forth.

I reverted back to the only thing I knew well. There was a lot a person could infer about another person’s choice of books—if there were any here.

“Do you have any books?”

“Yes. In the library that connects with my office. You’re welcome to read anything from there. Consider them yours.”

I stood and started in the direction of the office before I hesitated. Enclosing myself in a library wouldn’t do anything to further what he’d returned home for in such haste. I had to make an effort even if it meant gathering every speck of bravery I owned.

I held out a shaking hand toward him. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

Porter looked taken aback and though he’d nodded, he didn’t move to follow through with the agreement.

Come on girl, you can do this.

I reached out both of my hands and grabbed his. He still looked stupefied but got my drift, rising to stand in front of me.

“How about I go change out of this suit and I’ll meet you in the library shortly?”

“Sure.” With all my effort to be forward, I’d failed. It was this damned scar. All he saw was the scar. All he would ever see was the scar.

I looked down at myself and snickered. No amount of new clothing could change a face.

With a sigh, I made my way upstairs, grabbing a blanket from the end of my bed and dragging it with me to his office. True to his word, through a side door, was a pristine library, filled to the brim with hard-covered beauties just waiting to be discovered. My excitement was soon squashed as I began to read the titles on the first shelf. Accounting, business, and finance was the running theme.

Nothing to get lost in.

“Remind me to use those as firewood one day.” I turned and gasped. “Believe me, the disgust for those boring encyclopedias is mutual. The good ones are over here.”

This time he took my hand and pulled me to the other side of the room which, strangely, had a different smell in addition to a juxtaposed list of titles. It was like we’d stumbled into a parallel universe.

“These are my mother’s books. Don’t read the back matter unless you’re ready for a shock. I learned most of what I know about women from sneaking in here to read those books when I was a teenager. I used to hide one of her books inside an open copy of one of those books.” He pointed to the books of disdain.

“You were a mischievous one,” I remarked, thumbing through the titles not on the brazen bookshelf.

“I did my fair share. What about you? Any misbehavior I should be aware of?”

I laughed, but there was no comedy in it. “This is what I got for just being obedient; imagine my fate if I’d been defiant. I may not have limbs.” Porter cringed. Sometimes I forgot how my scar affected others, other than the obvious pity. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re apologizing for someone marring this beautiful face?””

My heart thrummed in my head, blocking out everything else but its rhythm. My defenses came and went as fast as two beats while the flood of a blush washed over my face.