His Haunted Heart

by Lila Felix

  “What is it, child?”

  The space was empty, bare of any sign of the girl.

  “Nothing. I thought I saw something.”

  “What did you see?”

  Eliza didn’t seem half as shocked as I would’ve expected. I looked down at the plump woman now staring into the space previously occupied by the girl.

  “What did I see?” I parroted back to her.

  “Delilah, this is an old home, owned by many before my husband and me. Plus the way the sun peers through the windows casts shadow all over the place. I’ve gotten a scare more times than I could count.”

  In a roundabout way, she was trying to give clout to my sighting without expressing direct validity.

  “I understand.”

  For the second time that day, she waved a hand in the air, dismissing me. “You’ve had a trying day. A wedding and a journey. You probably need a good meal and a decent night’s sleep, that’s all.”

  I’d never sat down to a decent meal followed by a peaceful night’s sleep. If she claimed it would cure me, then perhaps I could’ve been well years ago. I made my way down the stairs and looked for Porter. A longing for the touch of my new husband caught me by surprise. I longed for the warmth and callous of his hands on mine. My hands fisted at my sides, wishing they were grasping his coat or his shirt instead of the air.

  I felt a sense of safety with him—probably unfounded and naïve.

  “Maybe you’re right. A meal and some sleep will help.” Following her to the dining room, I saw that Porter stood near the far end, hands clasped behind his back, staring out the window that faced a haze-covered pond which could only be seen by the light of the bayou moon. I must’ve taken longer in the bath than I’d thought. Then again, everything in this place, from the time the horse clomped its feet on the driveway, fell under the tint of a dusky disposition.

  He’d changed clothes, now clad in a loose fitting cream-colored shirt and simple gray trousers. Eliza cleared her throat as we passed the threshold. Porter inhaled a quick breath and turned around, causing me to muffle my own gasp. He was different, relaxed and casual, with his hair tousled.

  He almost looked carefree.

  “Did you enjoy your bath?”

  My chin bowed with embarrassment. “I did. Thank you. It was like swimming.”

  A chuckle broke free of both Porter and his mother. I hadn’t meant the comment in jest, but apparently they found humor in it. I would’ve taken humor over hate any day.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s been a while since we had a laugh around here. Porter is too serious for us all.”

  Porter shot his mother a look that I perceived as a silent signal that she’d revealed too much.

  “Did you find your gifts?” he prompted after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

  “I did. But, I can’t accept them.”

  His posture grew rigid as I spoke. A sprig of dark brown hair fell from its place and wafted across his forehead, equally offended as Porter obviously was. Already I’d said something wrong in less than a day. It seemed I would never learn to keep my mouth shut.

  “Why not?”

  I flicked at the edges of my sweater. Some women might’ve jumped at the chance to have nice things and expensive clothing. I’d grown comfortable in my station in life and the things it afforded me. Dressing me up would be like having a hand-crafted door fitted to a shamble of a shack. The clothes I wore suited the look of me.

  I stuttered out, “I’m not used to them. I can’t just change who I am in a day and no amount of fine clothes will change what I look like. It’s like trying to dress up a possum.”

  Another giggle erupted from Eliza as she attempted to quietly leave the conversation. “Port, I will retrieve the food from the kitchen while you clear this up.” Clear this up was enunciated for some reason. I felt the welts of the incoming scolding before it had even begun.

  She took her leave and as the door shut behind her, Porter approached me. My initial thought was that the glass that was this whole day had finally cracked. I’d cracked it wide open with my words. Would he strike me or use hurtful words—or both? I didn’t know.

  “Delilah.” He breathed my name like a prayer and as his warm breath flowed over my face, so did a knowing that no harm would come to me. “Please don’t say such things. This is such a small part of you.” His thumb traced the path of the cut, this time starting at my chin and ending up at the top, near my temple.

  “There’s more,” I confessed.

  “Where?”

  Didn’t he know that he’d just asked the most intimate question of them all? I hefted out a heavy breath and stilled myself, silently building a wall to lean against. This was my husband now, not just a stranger though I’d known him less than a day. The least I could do was to look him in the eyes and give him the full truth of who I was—no matter how disgraceful.

  “Along my back.” Gazing into his eyes, searching for a response, he blinked several times. His hands blazed a trail down my arms, ending in our hands joined together.

  “One day you’ll have to show me. Just know that we all have scars. Mine are in here.”

  He took my right hand and placed it over his heart. I trembled under the force of his words and his unfailing stare.

  “Maybe one day I will see yours and perhaps you can learn not to see mine.”

  “Perhaps,” he answered as the clang of dishes interrupted our conversation.

  “Everything okay in here?” Eliza asked.

  “Yes, Mother. Everything is well.”

  His last word gurgled within me and nearly diminished my appetite. He’d said perhaps, which meant that for now, all he could see was my scar, regardless of his precious claim to my beauty.

  It could be worse, I assured myself.

  As we all took our seats around the table, Porter and his mother made easy conversation about events around the property. More food than I’d seen in a week was heaped onto my plate and after only a few bites, I was stuffed.

  “Mother, I will be going away tomorrow on business. Would you mind staying here for a while longer until I get back?”

  An unfounded feeling of abandonment took over, shaking me to the core. He was leaving already. He did only see my scar and was repulsed by it and by me. Unshed tears cued in the corners of my eyes and awaited their part in this tragedy of a play.

  “Excuse me.” I plopped my napkin down on the table and went out of the first door in sight, taking me to the living room where I spotted double doors that led outside. I opened one and slipped out, freeing myself from any further humiliation I’d caused myself. I was a fool. This wasn’t a real marriage or even a fantasy of one.

  His mother probably goaded him into finding a wife so that she could have grandchildren and I was just the hip-heavy sow chosen to give them to her—as soon as they fattened me up properly.

  Steel yourself, Delilah.

  My attention was caught by a cloud of lights in the night air—lightning bugs. They were everywhere. I took in what I could of my new home from this fresh perspective, letting it calm me. A large pond twice the size of Sable’s, was at the back, complete with an island in the middle and several boats awaiting a captain. The neighs of horses could be heard in the distance. Katydids and swamp frogs made a harmonious orchestra.

  I tried to take deep breaths, but the cold, humid air did nothing for my restless emotions. I had no reason to be upset.

  There were worse things than living in a grand mansion with every luxury at your fingertips.

  “You’re upset.” His voice seemed to flow in tune with the other sounds of the house as though it was also a product of this environment, made to fall into balance with the rest. I didn’t expect anyone to come looking for me. Usually, when I got upset, everyone was content to leave me be. After all, they didn’t want my presence in the first place.

  Though a thousand responses came to mind, none exited my mouth.

  “
I didn’t realize that I would be married today, Delilah. Please, understand. There are people that will be expecting me.”

  I wished that tears could be sucked back in as easily as they fell.

  “It’s fine,” I said, straightening my posture, hoping to show him that I was unfazed by his icy repertoire. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. Of course you have better things to tend to.”

  If ever there was a ploy for attention that was it.

  Just when I thought he’d taken his leave, I felt two warm hands on my shoulders. A shiver journeyed down my spine, alerting me to his proximity. “Not better, just business. I will be back tomorrow afternoon…unless you’d like more time to yourself.”

  I smiled, but tamped it down in a hurry. “We should probably get to know each other better. We are married. Anyway, I’ve had plenty of time to myself. I’m really not all that entertaining.”

  He chuckled. I felt the bass of it in the air. The weight of his body slumped against my back while his forehead leaned on the frail hairs that grew at the base of my scalp. “You’re a funny one. Yes, we are married. I promise to be back as soon as I can so that we can learn more about each other.”

  I nodded. I was acting like a child. What did I really expect, love at first sight? Only if he was blind would that notion be so simple to wallow in.

  I needed a subject change and fast.

  “What should I do while you are gone? I don’t really know my place here.”

  He began to speak. As he did, the heat of his words weaved into the back of my hair and caused every inch of me to stand at attention. “You are free here, Delilah. There may come a time when you will be able to help me with my business or find an interest of your own. We have plenty of land here and things to keep you occupied. I’m sure Mother would fill your time with her stories alone.”

  “I’m not one to sit around, Porter. I will find something worthy to keep me busy.”

  He backed away and took a few steps so that the toes of his boots hung over the edge of the porch. Crooking his neck back and forth, he grew agitated with something just out of his sight. His brown bunched right above his nose and a vein made its presence known below his ear. His jaw, structured like a statue, ground back and forth.

  “Let’s go inside. Please be careful out here at night. The swamp hides its secrets until we are alone.”

  Chapter Four

  Porter

  The bastard was in the trees, creeping, constantly creeping, like he always did. The fog, keeping the water company, did nothing to disguise him. If he tried any harder, squirming around, he would transform into the worm he was on the inside. All it took was the break of a twig and a whiff of his forever overpowering aftershave to know he was skulking around. He’d been trouble since before he was born and if it wasn’t for the contract our families drew decades ago, he wouldn’t be anywhere near me now.

  The initial words that drove Marie into his arms was me warning her against it. I told her to stay away from him. I knew there was a rebellious nature about her that was constantly submerged and wanted out. I’d been warned about it by her father, her mother, and anyone else who had caught my ear.

  Even his name was trouble. His mother cursed him the day she named him Rebel.

  Wanting to get Delilah away from him, I took hold of her hand and went back into the house. The motion took her by surprise and she tripped over the threshold. I caught her in an awkward sideways hold. She weighed nothing and my thoughts were taken back to the measly helping she was given in her parents’ home. Her skin felt boreal and again, my need to take that from her overtook any other instinct.

  “Let’s get you by the fire, you’re cold again.” Distracting her with her own discomfort was desperate, but making her aware of her new admirer would probably only fuel her curiosity.

  Though Delilah didn’t strike me as disloyal as Marie had been.

  I was betting everything on that hunch.

  I hoped against hope it was the case.

  As she stepped in front of the fire, the light from the flames cast a glow on her scar and I turned out of fear that I would gasp, showing my still present shock. I’d tried. The entire day, I’d tried my best not to look at it. She was beautiful, it was true, but that scar told me so many things about her. I would’ve preferred to hear them from her mouth instead. The laceration screamed at me, so callous on this otherwise gentle creature. It seemed shallow to ask her to discuss trivial things when already my bond with her was tethered in something deeper than favorite colors and how early she rose in the mornings—whether I willed it or not.

  There was a deep desire to protect her—a longing for her to seek her comfort from me and me alone.

  “What do you do for work?” she asked. I’d thought it was common knowledge what I did. It was the reason I didn’t go into the town much. Either I was asked for money or a loan. The begging was incessant.

  I smothered my relief at her beginning the conversation. “My father owned several banks. I also do some investing.”

  She sat in the chair that she’d occupied earlier, mulling over my words. “I’ve tried all day to remember if we went to school together, but I couldn’t remember you.”

  In The Rogue, all children were educated together in one classroom. After the eighth grade, it was the parents’ discretion as to whether or not the child continued on. If they did, they were taught by the Constable, one of the few in the town who’d completed college on the outside.

  “I was taught at home. Then I went to college on the outside.”

  Marie used to beg me to take her to the outside world constantly. She loved the glamour and the unabashed recklessness of the city. The more I indulged her, the more she craved it. It was like feeding an insatiable monster.

  She looked at the fire, rubbing her hands together and taking in my response. “I’ve never been to the outside. It sounds like a horrible place. Well, they say it is anyway.”

  That was the typical opinion, ingrained into us from birth, of The Rogue. We were taught to fear the outside, in a strenuous effort to keep us on the inside.

  “It can be. Just as The Rogue can be an awful place. Evil permeates people, no matter how well they hide.”

  My comment seemed to sober her. Sitting in front of a fire on a hallowed night was probably not the way she’d envisioned her honeymoon. Then again, I was probably a far cry from the quintessential husband. That was the fault in my planning. Even the money I’d paid for her hand couldn’t buy her affection.

  “You look worried,” Delilah said, shifting her body to face me.

  I didn’t know how to answer her without cracking my chest open and revealing the spark of care I’d already grown for the stranger I’d been married to for less than a day.

  “I tend to be a bit of a worrywart. I suppose you will have to get used to it. Like right now, for instance, I’m worried that this is all one big disappointment for you.”

  A flash of emotion passed over her face, causing a hue to take over her cheeks and her eyes to squint, before she corrected it. Here was my new wife and I had no idea what that face detailed or what the meaning was behind it. Those were things, I supposed, that a normal courting male would already know about his beloved.

  Yet, there I sat, clueless as the day I was born.

  She looked around our sitting room, taking her time to inspect each element. She must’ve thought us haughty and spoiled coming from where she had.

  “Do you play?” Her thin finger gestured toward the plethora of instruments in the furthest corner of the room. It had been ages since I’d played for anyone. Marie had begged me to, I suspected, out of pure boredom. But by the time she did, my feelings for her had shifted from intrigue to downright hatred—yet I couldn’t bring myself to end the engagement. She’d be ruined and so would her reputation.

  “I do. Maybe I could play for you tomorrow.” The abruptness of my offer astonished me as much as it did her, for she shifted in her chair with a jerk.

&
nbsp; “It’s been so long since I heard music—except for church service. Which one do you play?”

  I turned around to assess the inventory of instruments. A violin, a viola, and the cello stood docile on their stands. “All of them—there’s a record player in the library near the office as well.”

  “A Victrola?”

  “Similar. I’ll show you one day.”

  Her face returned to a calm stare before she turned to warm her feet. The fire’s warmth easily penetrated the thin sheaths she called boots. She said nothing in response and I’d lost count of how many times I’d made a complete ass of myself.

  “I have to admit, Porter, I feel a little ill-matched here. Out of place.

  No answer I could give her would take away the hurt now filling her eyes. One night couldn’t erase the years of degradation I’d assumed she had to put up with. She had no idea that if there was anyone not up to task in this duo, it was me. I had to try to convince her to stay. Before her, my life had become a mundane existence.

  “You—you were what I needed.”

  The winds outside kicked up and rustled the shutters barely hanging onto the house. The flames in the fireplace danced at its bidding.

  They knew a half-truth when they heard one.

  Her lack of reaction to my raw confession left me wanting—yearning for her approval or at least, her understanding. Anything to make me feel like less of a good businessman and more of a husband.

  One hefty exhale and she presented the gift I craved. “Sounds like fate. You needed someone and I needed a savior.”

  I hadn’t ever really believed in fate or any other all-powerful outside force before Marie. I believed in it afterwards. I began to think that whoever it was despised me.

  We both sat, not speaking.

  “I’ve made tea, if anyone would like some.”

  Leave it to my mother to interrupt with more talk of food. Delilah placed her flattened hand against her belly and groaned. “I’m so grateful, but honestly, I don’t think I could take a drop without bursting.”

  My mother and I both chuckled at her outburst. Relative to a normal person, she’d eaten a small amount, yet she was stuffed. The words she spoke were always clearly earnest. She made our home lighter. It was as though the fog that usually clung to my eyelids was blown away by her candor.