Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  “My longing for you…,” he whispered hoarsely between ragged breaths, “… presses upon my breast like unwept tears. My mind is numb…”

  His hardness jut between her legs.

  “I am intoxicated with wanting.”

  His weight upon her crushed her breasts to his chest.

  “Sweet woman, say but the word and I shall tear myself away.”

  Their gazes locked. Love shone in his eyes. His warm breath fanned her cheeks.

  She arched closer, bringing her lips to his once more.

  His skillful fingers dipped deeper into her body.

  She gasped a tiny gasp of pleasure and closed her eyes.

  He withdrew his fingers and cradled her head between his strong hands.

  Oblivious to all but the feel of his lips pressed against her mouth, the sudden jolt of pain ripping through her seared her brain as well as her body and shattered their kiss.

  She heard his quick intake of breath.

  His abrupt withdrawal stiffened her body with shock.

  Her eyes flashed open.

  A sudden, emptiness enveloped her befuddled brain.

  The expression of astonishment and mingled horror hardening his face cut more deeply than the engulfing pain coursing through her body.

  He jerked himself off her as though the mere touch of her poisoned him. “I do not understand.” His gaze fell to her thighs, now dotted with blood.

  Horrified, she jerked her chemise over her hips and sat up.

  He stood and stared down at her, raked his hand through his hair. Quickly he donned his breeches. He thrust one leg, then the other into his pants, his movements hurried, fitful.

  “I thought…” He turned, facing her. His face twisted in anguish.

  She reached for her bodice. Her fingers shook as she slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the fabric over her breasts.

  Confusion numbed her brain. A trembling spasm shook her.

  Once again, he raked his hands through his hair.

  “The devil take me,…” he said, horrified, “… what have I done?”

  ***

  The ride back to the house had been a quiet one. One Elizabeth wished wouldn’t play over and over through her mind as she stood by the window of her chambers and stared to the grounds below.

  The image of Philip’s controlled cool, but underlying, seething manner as he escorted her back to his home sent a stab to her heart.

  Dazed, an assortment of stinging words had rushed through her mind, but embarrassing tears had choked her throat.

  The shock of her virginity had turned his loving demeanor into despondent wrath, and made her feel dirty. Had her brash actions led him to believe she was experienced when it came to men?

  She dropped to the bench beneath the windowsill and hid her face in her hands.

  Uncontrollable tears fell; tears of shattered dreams—of frustration and injustice; tears spilled, for a love that never would be.

  The loud knock, stifled her sobs. She wiped her face as Philip opened the door.

  She stood and squared her shoulders, determined to be unaffected by his presence.

  He seemed hesitate, uneasy. “Would you grant me entrance? If you wish not, ‘twould be most understandable.”

  She bid him to come in.

  Uncertainty crept into his expression. He moved about the room restlessly. “I must apologize.” He glanced at her then hastily looked away. “I thought… I was of the opinion… He took a deep breath, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

  “That I was untouched came as a surprise to you.” Her statement lingered in the air between them.

  He stopped his pacing and nodded. A look of guilt spread upon his face. “Mary led me to believe otherwise. I would never have dared taken the liberty--” He raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit, she realized, he did when distressed.

  He dropped his hand at his side, clenched, then unclenched his fist. “I should not have--though ‘twas wrong, my design was only to help you forget the horrid act forced upon you by another. Make you see that…”

  Then it wasn’t out of love. Her stomach knotted. And he had, for a moment, made her forget her past, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing.

  “‘Tis seems, you sir, are no gentleman after all.” She picked up the hem of her gown, turned from him, and moved toward the window. Though anger chilled her words, the longing to feel his arms wrapped around her, the wish all was well betwixt them, clouded her brain.

  Elizabeth pushed aside the drape and glanced outside, wishing to forget he was there behind her. The devil take him!

  “You are right, of course. I have soiled your good name and for that I am truly ashamed.” His tone, one of mute wretchedness, did little to quell her bitterness.

  She turned, pointed to the door. “Please lea--”

  “Forgive me.” His broad shoulders heaved. “Though the honorable thing is to ask for your hand, it cannot to pass.”

  The tiny spark of hope lingering in the back of her mind despite all that had happened, quickly extinguished, leaving only a terrible sense of annoyance. How could she still want him? Even now when he clearly pushed her away?

  She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Her lips quivered and despair once again took root.

  Before she could think of some sharp word to say he continued.

  “Though you find displeasure with me now, the hate you would feel if you were my bride would be far greater.” He placed his hand on her arm.

  “Your words confuse me. I could not hate you.”

  “I cannot offer you the kind of life you deserve--.”

  His voice broke miserably. He stood very still, as if holding back the raw emotion she saw tensing his jaw. Long-faced he glanced away. “I cannot offer you children,” he said flatly.

  “Children?” She stared dumbfounded. “Who said--”

  “Damn it,” he snapped. His eyes blazing, his hand rose in a tight fist. “You force my word.”

  His expression thunderous, he took a deep breath as if to calm himself. “My seed is bad.” His shoulders dropped; his hand fell to his side.

  Elizabeth’s mind refused to register the significance of his muttered words. She stared, baffled.

  Unspoken pain dulled his eyes. “Do not stare at me as though my words are that of the insane.”

  How could he possibly believe he was to blame for William’s ailment? The thought was absurd.

  “If ‘tis an excuse you need--”

  “‘Tis no excuse. My words ring true.” His face softened. “For I desire you above all else.” For a moment, it appeared as though he would reach out to her, but once again, he clenched his hand at his side.

  Desire. She had never thought to hear those words fall from a man’s lips. Only she wanted more. She wanted love.

  Elizabeth passed him, with a swish of her skirt, breaking the silence. A bleak dull ache tugged at her heart.

  “I beseech of you to listen and hear my words. There is no future as my wife.”

  She pivoted around. “Though I do not presume, nor do I expect your forced hand, know this…”Anger dug its fangs into her chest. “If ‘twas love betwixt us and not the honorable deed impelled upon you by society, William would be all the child I need. I seek no more.”

  “Nay.” His dark face set in a stern expression. “I do not believe this. Little by little, day by day the need to see your own flesh and blood swell within you would rot your soul and cause your hatred of me.”

  “You are wrong. I--”

  “Nay,” He shook his head. “Someday when your own babe suckles at your breast you will think back on this day and I pray, grant me forgiveness.”

  ***

  Not wishing to hear another word, unable to bear the anguish he saw on her face, Philip spun on his heel and headed for the door.

  “You are wrong,” she shouted, as he stepped into the hall.

  Bloody hell, if only that were tr
ue. His footsteps thundered down upon the stairs. Damn his fool's heart and inadequate body. Damn. The front door slammed open.

  Dusk lit the sky with a pinkish hue; pink like the color of her full lips, and when embarrassed, the color that dotted her cheeks.

  The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he stomped toward the barn.

  He was right. He knew he was. She didn’t deserve the kind of life, his crippled body had to offer. Though he wanted her, wanted her badly, he did her a favor. Surely once the shame of his careless behavior passed, she would see he was right.

  A familiar loneliness engulfed him, an extraordinary void that cut deep into his soul.

  The smell of fermenting hay accosted his nostrils as he stormed into the barn. He made his way over to his horse’s stall, grabbed the blanket and saddle that hung from a peg nearby. The stall’s door squeaked open, then thudded shut behind him.

  Thunder’s mane shook. He snorted and backed up. His hindquarters pressed up against the plank wall.

  “Easy fella.” Philip edged nearer. “You and I are quite a pair. ‘tis seems we both have been charmed by a certain lady.”A lady he wished to forget.

  He dropped the blanket over the stallion’s back.

  Thunder shook his head. His nostrils flared.

  “Angry are we? Then that too we share. And right now I fear mine the stronger of the two. So beware, do not begrudge me this ride.”

  The saddle tightened into position.

  The stallion pawed the earth with his hooves.

  “If ‘tis a fight you seek, I shall be more than happy to oblige.”

  Women, who the hell needed them!

  His life had a rhythm that suited him just fine, until she’d showed up.

  I should have left her in the woods.

  He grabbed the bridle.

  Had I known then the mess I’d would be in…

  “Open up.” He placed the bit in Thunder’s mouth.

  …and the torment her presence would bestow upon my person…

  He tugged the cinches and yanked on the saddle.

  …I would have walked away.

  “I wouldn’t have,” he confessed sadly. “She has lightened my days and my heart.”

  Philip swung up onto Thunder’s back. Surprised when the stallion didn’t buck, he reached out toward the cord that opened the door and pulled. With a gentle nudge into the horse’s flank, he led his mount outside.

  Confused, angry at his predicament—needing answers and time to think, he galloped away from his home—away from the small bit of pleasure so recently granted him—Elizabeth.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Now you try.”

  Elizabeth stood over her armonica and watched William, place his fingers over the glasses.

  And where is his father?

  Her foot taped anxiously beneath her skirt.

  He left in such a fitful hurry.

  Her gaze darted through the window to the setting sun.

  She had wanted to run after him, to tell him he was wrong, wrong about so many things. Instead, she had watched him ride off like a baited bull.

  She glanced back at William and took a deep breath. “Play what I showed you. Let the notes flow from your memory and down through your fingers.”

  Will he return as angry as he had left?

  Disheartened, she frowned. What cause had he to be angry? ‘Twas she who should be cross, not him. She had been careless. She had lost her virtue to a man who thought he had nothing to offer. Her life was ruined, not his.

  Distressed, restless, she clenched her hand at her side. Refusing to dwell on Philip, she focused her attention back to his son.

  Did William posses the ability to play this simple song? He knew all the scales she had taught him. Knew what sharps and flats were. But would he be able to remember the melody and put it all together?

  A jumble of notes flowed beneath his fingers.

  “Nay, dear. Try and remember the notes of the song I just showed you.”

  Again, the irritating fusion of noise.

  Will Philip have a change of heart?

  She rubbed her temple, easing the tension building in her head.

  Would I have had done anything differently?

  From out in the hall came chattering whispers. She noticed Nona and Tessie staring into the room.

  A malicious sneer wrinkled Nona’s mousy thin face.

  As soon as they saw her watching them, they bolted from the doorway and she was sure she’d heard the word sinister fade into the walls.

  Those women are trouble.

  She glanced over William’s shoulder, to the carved mahogany enclosed tall clock. 5 o’clock. The large brass pendulum swung back and forth.

  Tick.

  He would be fixed on playing that grating disharmony until the point of obsessiveness.

  Tick.

  Oh, he had changed in the time she’d been here. He knew his ABCs and his numbers and followed with her when she read to him. No longer the angry little boy who threw tantrums and bolted from her touch, he showed real promise of a normal life.

  Normal, whatever that meant.

  Tick.

  Am I normal? Hardly.

  ‘Twasn’t normal for Philip to blame himself for William’s aliment.

  She glanced back at William.

  “What does your father fear? What is the real reason he protests against marriage so?”

  That he’d thought her no longer virginal had been no excuse to have taken such a liberty of her person.

  “I should be horn-mad. Only…”

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “I am not.” She sighed. ‘Twas her own folly, she wanted him more than she cared about her pride and self worth.

  Was he afraid she would betray him like Rebecca?

  Was keeping the secret of her guardian from him betraying him?

  Granted, letting him think she had no family was a lie, but not betrayal.

  He doesn’t love me.

  A stab of pain attacked her heart.

  He’s afraid our child will have my gift.

  The thought froze in her brain.

  Could that be his true fear?

  Yes.

  Her ability to see and hear what others could not set her apart.

  William’s fingers danced up and down the glasses.

  “I love you William, as I do your father. Why can he not see you are all I need? He is all I need?”

  Love. ‘Twas the first time she had said the word out loud. Her soul swelled with a feeling of joy she thought she’d never experience.

  “I gather that I fell in love with him that night I saw him in your chambers.”

  Without looking up, oblivious to her words, William kept playing a dissent medley of nothingness.

  If the child were to be all they shared, she found joy in that. She needed this family.

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “I am going to make your father see he is wrong. I will not give up on him. Nor you.”

  William stopped and stared at her with a speculative gaze.

  She placed her hands over his fingers. “I know you can hear me. I know you can. Tell me. Tell me what you are thinking.” She squeezed his finger lightly. “Talk to me. I know ‘tis hard, but you must try. You can stay locked away in that lonely world of yours, or join me in mine.”

  He stared up at the ceiling.

  Her throat constricted. She swallowed. “I know how alone you feel. I too have felt the same way. And the sadness, your sadness, weighs heavy on my heart.”

  She placed a finger on his jaw, till he once again looked at her. “You can say hello, or goodbye, or cat or… or anything. I promise I will listen.”

  Before she could say another word, William ran his fingers back and forth across the armonica. Alexander Reinagle’s Andante sang beneath his hands. The tempo was exactly as she had played it, every note perfect.

  “Excellent William. Excellent.” Excitement bubbled up within her. But she tried to kee
p her voice calm. He had been listening, paying attention. This was wonderful!

  Then suddenly, in the middle of the song, he took off into a different melody.

  She took a deep breath of utter astonishment.

  He played Schultz’s Largo. A piece, she realized, he must have overheard her practicing the day before; a piece difficult for one even as experienced as she was.

  Her mouth agape, she stood there, unable to speak.

  His face intense, he raced his fingers up and down the glasses. Wave after wave of notes, sharps and flats sung through her mind. The fast tempo pounded in her numb brain.

  “Bless me soul ‘tis a glorious sound ye be a--” Mary stopped short. Astonishment touched her round face. Making the sign of the cross before her, she hurried her portly frame into the room. “If’n I didn’t see it with me own eyes, I’d think me head have erred. By all the saints in heaven!”

  Elizabeth smiled.

  “What have ye done?” Mary’s eyes widened.

  “‘Tis a gift, and not of my doing. He is a musical genius.”

  “Nay, ‘tis thanks to the Lord and thanks to ye.” Mary placed a plump hand over her mouth. Tears clouded her gaze.

  Elizabeth gently touched her arm. A lump of emotional pride welled in her throat.

  Unable to say another word, they stared in silence.

  As quickly as he had started, William jerked his fingers from the glasses, stood up and made circles with his head.

  Mary cleared her throat. “Well, come along child. Dinner is waitin’ fer ye.” She held out her hand.

  William took it.

  With some disappointment, that they left her, Elizabeth watched them walk toward the door.

  Just as they were about to enter the hallway, Mary turned. “Well are ye comin’?”

  ***

  “Strange one she is.” Nona’s voice hit Elisabeth, as she rounded the corner, “...and such a dreadful sound.”

  “She conjures up the devil that one does.”

  The callous cold-hearted tone, of the unrecognizable voice, sent a chill to Elizabeth’s spine.

  “The boy weren’t right in ‘is ‘ead before she got ‘ere. And --”

  “They’re a pair. Mad as a hare. Both poison--”

  “That music of ‘ers raises the ‘airs on me arms. She’s the reason for all the ill in this ‘ouse.”