His Haunted Heart

by Lila Felix

  The absence of his warmth was instant as he removed his arm from around my shoulders and wrung his hands together, gathering the courage to continue. It wasn’t easy to hear the story of a woman who’d been promised to him as a boy. Porter deserved someone who appreciated every gesture of kindness he willingly gave. The only thing I would ever think about demanding from him was his heart.

  His knee bobbed up and down.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him pull that move.

  “I came home on the morning of her nineteenth birthday, just a week before our wedding. We’d been fighting and I’d left angry. I searched all over the house and couldn’t find her. My mother had gone to town with June. I finally…” His voice broke off. “In the pond. She was in the pond, face down. I tried—I tried to get in and save her, but it was much too late. Three days after the funeral I was rummaging through my desk for the keys to the cabin, when I found the note.”

  Whatever the note contained, the thought of it brought him to tears. He stood and separated himself from me.

  This man who held the reputation, even with his mother, of being a stoic and unfeeling kind, was broken. He had scars that ran so deep they couldn’t be seen by the eye.

  Some scars are too devastatingly beautiful for the world to see.

  “Where’s the note?”

  My question caused him to stiffen in place. He was a statue and I was powerless not to look at the art of him. For a brief moment, I wondered what our marriage would look like if I wasn’t who I was and he was free to be who he was without constraint.

  Would he and I have met in the streets of the town?

  Would he have even given me a second look?

  “I will show you one day. I promise.”

  It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it had been a long day and my head had been pounding for hours.

  Doubling over, I wrapped my arms around the backs of my thighs and rested my forehead on my knees. I was cold again. The scratches on my arms had made themselves known little by little throughout the night. They screamed at me to heed their call.

  “I’m such an imbecile. There’s aspirin in the kitchen and you’ve got to be starving.”

  I looked down at the lines on my arms. I’d felt them, but hadn’t looked at them since the incident, not wanting to see the face of Marie when I did. The lines were raised from my skin, angry.

  I yawned so many times from the moment he dragged me from the library to the kitchen that tears flowed to the edge of my jaw, dropping off onto my blouse.

  The rest of the early morning was a blur. I remembered eating and taking some pills from Porter, but that was the end of my memory.

  ~~

  A note was left between the two doors of my wardrobe. I saw it the next morning after I’d woken alone and cold in the bedroom that was ours in name only.

  Porter had ridden to town to handle some business but would be back as soon as possible.

  He still didn’t believe me.

  If he did, he would’ve recognized that the times when he was gone were the only times when the ghost of his un-beloved visited me.

  My sleep was haunted by visions of the ghost of Marie and the note that seemed to be the core of Porter’s disbelief about why she would haunt me.

  I needed to find that note.

  Bounding down the stairs, I noted the position of the sun in the sky, and realized it was much later than I’d thought. Porter may have been back any minute.

  I took the key from the drawer where I’d found it before. As soon as I touched it, the gnarling of guilt gripped my insides and tried to sway me away from intruding on his privacy. The need to know more about what was my sworn immortal enemy was stronger than guilt. It was a matter of self-preservation. And while Porter was proficient in saving me from my parents and the cesspool of a life I’d been living in, this was one thing he was incapacitated in protecting me from.

  I had to protect me.

  And I had to make sure that the devil of a woman didn’t turn her wrath on this man that I now loved.

  I thought that was what marriage must be.

  That is what I would make it.

  Two people protecting each other.

  My hands shook while I placed the key into the tiny lock and broke it free of the clasp. Inherently, I knew this was the place that held everything I needed to know about Marie and her insistence on tormenting my life after so many years of hovering harmless in Porter’s.

  It was as though I’d brought her to life.

  Marrying me had been a catalyst that Porter hadn’t bargained for.

  I unfolded each piece of paper, one by one, careful not to bend or tear the delicate pages. Porter’s birth certificate was there, along with our marriage certificate and my birth certificate. I hadn’t even realized he had that one. All the things I didn’t know about my own life troubled me and stirred worry in my heart.

  I stared at the paper for more time than I was allotted by my husband’s absence. My eyes were glued to the blank line next to Father.

  “He gave it to me when you and your mother were making dinner. The night that I came to meet you.”

  Porter’s voice made me jump and I dropped the small treasure chest-like box onto the floor, smashing it to pieces.

  I squatted down and began to pick up the pieces, not knowing what his reaction would be to me snooping around. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “You’re shaking.”

  His arms snaked around my waist and pulled me back from the mess. His breath was warm against my neck. It caused my shoulders to shake in shudder.

  “My father’s name is blank.”

  He pulled me tighter against his large frame and I sunk into his chest.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Look at me, Delilah.”

  The meaning of it all was crashing down on me, but I needed to hear the words. The small detail that would explain all the heartache and pain that was my life until Porter. It took a few moments before I was able to face him. Deep down, I knew what he was going to say.

  I gathered my bravery and met his gray eyes, hoping that truth would set me free.

  “Your father wasn’t your biological father. That’s what I was told. Your mother had an affair, early in their marriage.”

  The only reason I stayed sitting was Porter’s hands on my arm and my back, holding me down.

  “That’s why they hated me.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine a mother mistreating her child for that reason, especially when the reason points the finger right back to the one who had the affair. I can’t tell you whether or not your sisters knew, though their blatant mistreating of you tells me they did.”

  I’d expected myself to cry over such a tragedy, but they never came.

  “I didn’t belong there. I belong to no one. I have no father. My family hates me. I couldn’t even find a husband—at least one that wasn’t willing to pay for me.”

  “Delilah Catherine Jeansonne, look at me. I’m going to say this once now and every moment until you believe it.”

  Must he demand eye contact for every word?

  Again, I met his gaze, though inside, I was determined not to believe anything he had to say.

  “I knew the first moment I saw you in that wretched home that you didn’t belong there. You were like a withered magnolia among spiked weeds. You’re right. You didn’t belong with those people and you didn’t belong with people who hated you. You belong with me. You will always belong with me.”

  He hadn’t said he loved me, but it was the closest thing to love I’d ever felt. His words clenched my heart. It was more than I could take.

  “One day I’ll believe that.”

  “I won’t stop telling you until you do.”

  Together we moved to pick up the pieces of the box. Porter gathered the papers and photos and stacked them in his hands. His face told me it wasn’t something he was willing to face, but had to.
r />   “I had to see the note. I have to know why. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve carried it by myself for way too long. Maybe you can help me with that.”

  He pulled out a picture and my gut instinct was jealousy. There were no pictures of me in his secret stashes. There wasn’t a single picture of me in existence, even in my family home.

  Marie was a beauty, more so in life than in death. She was older in the picture.

  “How old was she here?”

  “Eighteen. This was the Christmas before…”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “She was. But only on the outside. Her soul wasn’t beautiful—and before long, her soul was all I could see.”

  He took the photo from me and put it aside.

  “This was us on her eighteenth birthday. This was when we officially began courting. Her parents insisted we take pictures together. They even had a fancy photographer come down here from Baton Rouge.”

  Porter looked like a different man in that picture. His shoulders were stronger. His eyes showed no signs of sleep deprivation or stress. Those gray eyes that stole my heart looked down at his then future bride with pride and devotion.

  “You loved her.”

  “I loved the idea of her. I wanted a wife and a family, just like any other man.”

  “Do you still?”

  “No.” He paused. A smile grew on his face and I knew I’d been duped. “I already have a wife. Maybe one day she’ll give me a family.”

  “If the ghost doesn’t kill her first.”

  Silence took over the room. Something in the picture with Porter caught my eye. It was the necklace. I knew that necklace.

  “Are there more pictures of Marie?”

  He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. “Yes, there’s a box upstairs. Why?”

  “I need to see them and then the letter.”

  He squeezed me once and placed a kiss at my temple. “I will get them. Take these and meet me by the fire. You’ve gone cold again. I’m failing on all fronts today.”

  He was failing on no fronts in my book.

  I took the stack from him and we parted at the foot of the stairs. Not sure if Marie was found of the sitting room, I looked around for her presence just to make sure. I smiled to myself at the two chairs in front of the fire. One of those chairs, my chair, was the very spot that I first felt safe with Porter.

  I supposed with us dragging out all of his past in the same place, it was time for him to feel safe sharing his secrets with me.

  “Here’s everything I could find.”

  He plopped an old box on the stool next to my chair. We thumbed through the pictures together. Since Porter was a child, most of his pictures either were with Marie or had her in the background scene. It was disturbing to say the least.

  From adolescence to her teen years and beyond, Marie grew into a beautiful woman and I recognized her in some of the pictures where her appearance matched the apparition who’d tormented me.

  All of those pictures, yet one thing never changed.

  The locket around her neck.

  The chains it was attached to changed. Once, in a picture on what Porter said was his sixteenth birthday, the locket hung from a bracelet. Nevertheless, it was always there.

  “Did she always wear this?” I pointed to several pictures, highlighting the locket.

  “Yes. I asked about it once. Her mother said it was given to her by a family friend when she was a baby. I always thought it was odd the way she never took it off. I asked her about it once. She threw a fit and accused me of trying to control her. I dropped the subject after that. It was just a necklace after all.”

  I didn’t tell Porter that I’d seen that necklace or where I’d seen it before. I knew from the way he’d reacted this morning that Rebel’s name threw him into a fit of anger, one that I never wanted to see again.

  “Maybe you’re right. Can I see the letter?”

  That infamous letter was in my hands, but even more than looking for it, reading it in his presence felt wrong.

  “You have it there.” His hand shook as he pointed to the papers in my hand.

  “But can I read it?”

  “Of course.”

  I opened the letter, but before I could read anything past the word Porter, it was jerked from my hand.

  “I’ll read it to you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded once and began. The words were clipped, almost child-like in nature. I could see the handwriting through the paper. Blots of ink dotted the I’s. It looked more like a splattered painting than Marie’s last letter.

  I heard the words, but they failed to resonate with anything I knew about the man that read them. The hatred that spewed from the letter sounded more like she was addressing someone who’d attempted to murder her—or worse.

  I interrupted him, not being able to handle any more. “You said you never treated her ill. You told me that despite your growing annoyance with her, you never behaved as such. You quarreled only because of her demanding more money. Isn’t that true? Isn’t that what you said to me?”

  “Yes. I said that.” Porter reached behind his head and scratched the back of his neck, like the whole thing confused him as much as it did me. “She must’ve been able to tell. I tried to hide it so well. My parents wanted nothing else for me than to marry her. I was trying to make them happy.”

  “And when she died?”

  He shifted in his larger chair. “They seemed more relieved than I was.”

  “You should’ve spoken up, Porter. What would you have done, put up with being married to someone you didn’t like just because your parents wanted you to?”

  I’d sparked anger in him. His smoky eyes nearly came ablaze.

  “I could say the same for you. If I hadn’t come along, would you never have taken up for yourself?”

  The weight of the impasse set me back in the chair, my hands wringing on the wooden arms.

  He was right, of course.

  “I’m sorry again. I promise, one day to go through an entire day without having to apologize.”

  He laughed, but I didn’t. I didn’t even care about myself anymore.

  I didn’t know if that was healthy or not.

  The violins cradled in their stands and the piano tucked into the corner seemed to grow bigger as my mind ground through all the new information which brought on more questions than answers.

  “Can we get out of this house? I feel like the walls are closing in on me.”

  He spoke the words that were brewing in my head.

  “Please.”

  “We have a fishing pier at the edge of the property near the bridge. You may have seen it coming here.”

  I reddened thinking of riding behind Porter. I remembered thinking that he was the strongest man I’d ever known.

  “I wasn’t paying attention to anything around me—at least, not the landscape.”

  My husband reached out tentatively and then stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “I love this color on you. If it were my choice, I’d have you blushing from morning until night.”

  I changed the subject. “You said something about fishing?”

  I’d never been fishing, but I’d do anything to get out of these beautiful walls—every corner hid secrets and every turn of a knob or click of a window sent terrified goose bumps down my arms.

  “Yes. I’ll grab the fishing box and reels from the shed outside. Why don’t you pack us up something to eat?”

  These people and all their food.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Porter

  I could barely breathe, the air was so thick with humidity. It hovered around us like a cloud full of impending rain. Delilah, on the other hand, was content as she’d been in my tree fort. Her legs swung back and forth in the same fashion. Her eyes mirrored the smile on her face.

  I loved that about her; she found joy in peace.

  It had been years, maybe a full decade
since I’d told anyone that I’d loved them, including my own mother. The words were tacked to the end of my tongue, but I refused to let them be spoken. The sentiment was there, even in this short time. I wasn’t one to believe in divine intervention, but Delilah coming into my life, despite the chaos, was a blessing I’d never asked for.

  I was still looking at her when she slid two of her fingers down the bridge of her button nose.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  “You touched your nose. Something is making you nervous.”

  She studied me for a moment and then turned away, pretending to be readjusting her fishing pole.

  “You’re still upset about your father? If you want me to ask your mother about your real father, I can do that. You don’t have to see either of them ever again if you don’t want to.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do anything for you, including telling you how you’re never going to catch anything if you keep moving your fishing pole like that.”

  Her anxious swinging legs were causing her fishing pole to bounce up and down in the water, making it impossible for any fish to ever get hooked.

  “I’ve never fished before.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “My father used to bring me here under the guise of fishing when he really had something important to say to me. I knew that as soon as I caught that first fish, he was going to go into whatever he wanted to say. Sometimes, I wished a fish would never bite.”

  Just as I finished my sentence, a tug at my line let me know that despite the anxious legs beside me, a fish had found my line.

  After pulling it up, I let it go. I’d seen bigger fish in a sardine can.

  “Don’t laugh. You haven’t gotten a single bite.”

  With a shrug, Delilah attempted to suppress her smile.

  “It’s your turn to tell me something profound. I caught the first fish.”