His Haunted Heart Page 6

  “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.

  “I apologize for everything. It seems to keep me out of trouble.”

  “Well, now you can practice not apologizing. I doubt you’ll ever do anything that warrants one, anyway.”

  He squatted down and searched in earnest for a specific title, growing more and more tenacious when he didn’t find it. I brushed past him, forgoing the elicit titles for the more tame classics and stumbled upon Jane Eyre. It was one of my favorites. The teacher had snuck it into my bag one day at school. Though I was exhausted at night, I managed to sneak in a few pages every time I could. It took me nearly a year to read through the entire volume.

  I cried over the death of Helen like it was my own friend.

  “Rochester is an ass,” Porter called, still in his place, but peeking over his shoulder at my choice.

  “He’s tormented. There’s a difference.”

  “So he’s excused?”

  “He’s not excused, just misunderstood. Broody is becoming on some people.”

  He chuckled. The sound rumbled through the space, bouncing off the walls. The whole place filled with the boom.

  “Maybe I should try to be broody.”

  I snapped the book shut and spun on my heels. “Too late.”

  This time we laughed together.

  Chapter Six

  Porter

  We’d spent the whole day together. It hadn’t been my intention, but the surprise was pleasant. By the time dinner time came around, as we sat across from each other at the table, she’d blossomed like a flower, no longer holding her petals tight.

  Though every time she smiled, her eyes looked downward.

  And a funny-shaped dimple concaved on the left side of her mouth.

  I tried, in vain, to ignore my mother looking back and forth between us.

  “Delilah, dear,” she interrupted my unabashed stare. “Did you tell Porter about your little ghostly sighting?”

  I dropped my fork and then tried to recover my folly by coughing. It was futile.

  “I did not.”

  “Well, maybe it’s something you can tell him about later on.”

  “Sure.” Delilah answered. The petals fell back into place around her.

  The rest of the meal was taken in silence.

  “Do you want to go for a walk with me tonight?” I offered, with a hidden agenda.

  “Yes. Let me get my cloak.”

  After she was up the stairs and out of sight, I retrieved my bags from the porch where I’d left them. While she’d slept the night before, I searched her boots and found the number eight worn down, almost unreadable.

  “I’m ready now.”

  “You cannot wear those boots outside. They won’t protect you from anything.” It was a chore to force my face to remain stern.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, knocking the toes of the boots together. “These are all I have.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I bought these.” From behind my back, I pulled a brand new pair of boots. I’d bought four different pair in varying shades and skins. She would find that out later, tonight this pair would do.

  “Porter, you didn’t. You’ve given me too much already.”

  Her eyes betrayed her words, gazing at the boots.

  “I have done no such thing. You’re offending me. Come, put them on.”

  With a great deal of slowness, she reached me. As her lithe hands grabbed the boots, I held on, teasing her a bit for her protest. “Porter…” she said with a bit of groan.

  “Hurry, I know a place where the lightning bugs roam.”

  “I’m hurrying.”

  One by one she clunked the decrepit boots to the side
. “Let’s throw those to the trash.”

  She smiled and for the second time that day, I saw her run her pointer finger down the length of her nose. I would have to pay more attention, but I already assumed it was an endearing quirk.

  “That’s where I found them in the first place. It would be like returning them home.”

  “You found them in the trash?”

  She picked them up lovingly. “I did. They served me well. Some of the best things are those that others feel need to be discarded.”

  Another run of her finger down her nose. The quick move was now so obviously her outward sign of embarrassment.

  After setting the boots outside the front door, she laced her arm through mine after some coercion. We walked for hours, unfazed by the lack of light or the looming darkness. She didn’t seem to scare easily at the things most women, and namely Marie, used to shy away from.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  The moon threw streams of light down on her hair, making the blackness turn to blue. Her pale skin was luminescent and it took everything in me not to reach out and touch her face again. Throughout the day I’d felt that if I didn’t steal even the smallest touch, that I might crumble.

  “It’s right up here.”

  Within minutes we came upon the biggest cypress tree on the lands. I’d been drawn to it since I was a child and demanded that a platform be built upon it. Many hours I had spent on that throne of my own, away from the world below, with my dreams in the clouds above me, playing out fantasies of lore and books unwritten.

  “Climb up,” I offered, remembering my manners.

  “I’m in a skirt, Porter.”

  “I won’t look, I swear.”

  She looked up the length of the ladder and then back to me, quelling a smile. “Put your face on the trunk of this tree and don’t look until I tell you, okay?”

  “Sounds like a game of hide and seek.”

  Raising her nose to snub me, she replied, “That’s my offer, take it or leave it.”

  A furious blush marked her cheeks when she got a little cheeky—probably the first time she’d been allowed to let her true colors shine.

  I waited a breath to agree. Her premise was understood and it was too soon to ask for her trust.