Noah was the one who had changed, or rather his perception had. The fog that had obscured his path had burned away under the warmth of Millie’s radiance.
“You’re not getting married—you’re done with her.” She said it like a statement, rather than questioning her as he had expected.
“I’ve been done. I just didn’t know it until now. Every change I made in this house, I did it for you.” He hadn’t admitted it before now, but it was true.
When he suggested the tile upstairs, in the back of his mind, he was aware that his suggestions would make Millie happy. He had outright allowed Millie to choose the finish for the kitchen, all the while lying to himself that it was for Claire. The house, and the woman trapped in it had drawn him from the first.
“You brought my home back to life,” Millie said her tone soft. “I wish it could be the same for me. I can’t even touch you. You deserve so much more.”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her full lips before she nervously clamped her bottom lip between her teeth.
Noah reached out his hand to touch her, but remembering the other night, he stopped without making contact. “I deserve you.”
“You want to live with me and never touch.” Unshed tears balanced precariously in her eyes, making the gold streaks sparkle like the sun on water. “You’d never have children, a family. No one would understand.”
“You’d rather that I marry her and have those things?”
Millie shook her head. The movement allowed the tears to escape and roll down her china white face. “Not her, but someone better than her.”
He stepped in closer, just a breath separating them. Her neck craned back to look up into his eyes. Unable to touch her, the distance might as well have been miles.
“What if there’s no one better than you?” Noah asked.
Millie’s form faded in and out like a flickering candle. It reminded him of the moments when she disappeared, and for a heartbeat, he worried she would leave him. Something about this seemed different. He felt her presence with him, but the possibilities hovered dangerously near, and with so much unresolved between them his nerves refused to settle.
“I’m here,” she whispered, answering his unexpressed concern.
She faded to a mere wisp of fog. If he waved his hand through her body, surely she would dissipate. To his shock, he felt her—her little fingers pressing gently on the back of his neck, pulling him in.
Tender and unsure, she kissed him.
He responded slowly, stunned this moment could happen. Knowing he might never have this chance again, he poured himself—his love—into this one kiss, this magic moment. He reached up to cradle her face in his hands. As he touched her, whatever had blessed this moment broke apart and with it his heart.
His lips, hands, and neck tingled with the memory of her touch.
“I’m so sorry, Noah. I wasn’t strong enough to give you more.” Millie’s voice held the longing that echoed in him.
Shaking and faded, she collapsed to the floor at his feet.
Noah knelt in front of her, aching with the need to touch her again and comfort her. “It happened once, it can happen again. Please don’t give up.”
Spectral tears flowed freely now as Millie rose slowly. Every small movement seemed to drain her further. Noah reached out his hand to help her, and it passed through her. Her eyes filled with pain as she stepped back until his hand no longer protruded from her shoulder.
Millie staggered away from him in silence. When she reached the door, she stumbled. Reaching out to brace herself, her hand passed through the wall—something he had never seen her do. By force of will alone, she managed to stay erect and drag herself from the room.
millie sat by her rosette window, leaning against the exposed wood lath, absorbing the warmth of the sun. She held her hand up, the golden stream of light passing through her transparent fingers. To her own eyes, she solidified in the restorative warmth, but it didn’t bring the peace and contentment it normally washed her in. Instead, she chafed at her own weakness.
A soft tap sounded on the attic door. “Millie?”
Her lashes fluttered shut against the tears that rushed forward. The door remained closed. With silent footfalls, she moved down the attic stairs, stopping on her side of the door.
“I just want to know that you’re all right.” Noah’s voice trembled.
Millie laid her hand against the door. Was he doing the same on the other side? It was his warmth she wanted, not the suns. She reached for the door handle but pulled her hand back and rested her forehead against the painted wood.
She couldn’t face him yet, weak as a kitten. Not until she decided what to do.
Say something, she pleaded silently. A tear slipped free and rolled a lazy trail down her cheek. The moisture disappeared into nothingness before it hit the floor.
Millie heard Noah whisper. “I love you. Please be okay.”
His heavy footsteps retreated down the hall, followed by the rhythmic pounding of his descent down the stairs. She sank to the floor to gather her scattered emotions.
Noah loved her or thought he did. It was what she wanted, but it wasn’t right. She told him the truth last night, even though the words burned in her throat. She could never give him the life he deserved.
Millie shook herself and scurried up the attic steps, back to the window in time to see Noah’s car back down the driveway. No longer concerned about a chance encounter, she went down to the living room.
He left the TV on her favorite channel.
Millie sighed to herself. He was always so thoughtful, but tearful brides shopping for the perfect dress did not help her melancholy mood. She settled into the plush embrace of the sofa to watch it at first, crying over the parade of happy brides. She had never been a happy bride.
The first tug of silken threads dragged at her. She brushed at her face, to push them away as if that was possible. The web of her emotions snared her tighter with the feeble struggle, dragging her into the memory.
The tink, tink, tink of pebbles striking glass cut through her senses and when she blinked, she was not in front of the TV. She sat hugging her knees in the darkness on her childhood bed. The moon cut a swath of light across her floor and the pink rose pattern on her quilt. It gleamed off the brass bedpost. If she had it to do again, she wouldn’t have gone to that window. Not this night or any other that Harold came. Here she was just an automaton without choice, reliving the memory.
Millie slipped off the edge of the bed. Rushing to the window before he woke her parents, she lifted it and leaned out the casement. “Harold, what are you doing?”
He stood crushing his hat in his hands, looking up at her with the crooked smile that made her heart skip the first time he had turned it her way. “Come on down, Millie. Don’t be like that.”
“I’m coming,” she said with a girlish giggle that offended her own ears.
Millie pulled her head back in and swung her first leg out so that she straddled the window and then pulled the other out. Harold put his cap on and reached up to her. With a silent prayer, she leaped down into his arms. It was a big leap, but he was a tall man, and this was not the first time he caught her. He stumbled back but held firm before swinging her down for her feet to touch the ground.
Harold took her hand, and they ran to her father’s barn. Her heart raced with fear for the future that lay ahead. As soon as they were out of sight behind the barn doors, Harold swung her into his arms, lifting her up to kiss him. Her feet dangled like a child.
In the moment, she was simultaneously nervous and excited. Reliving it, her gut rolled in disgust over the tobacco taste of his mouth and the overwhelming stench of animals and hay around them. She might be forced into the reenactment and the emotions that came with it, but she did not have to enjoy it.
“Sweet girl, I’ve been wait’n for this all day.” It was the last romantic or even nice thing he ever said to her.
He backed her up against the barn
wall and reached for the edge of her skirt. His rough hand slid up her thigh. Relaxing into him, her body arched forward, but her mind wanted his hands off her. In retrospect, she knew it had only ever been lust for him, and she was just the silly young girl that fell for it.
“Harold, slow down.” Millie struggled to catch her breath as he buried his face in her neck, his stubble scraping against her skin. “I have something to tell you.”
He stopped, waiting for her to speak as his body ground into her, a reminder of what he wanted, pinning her against the wall. She struggled to think past the wave of desire muddling her already chaotic thoughts.
Her words came out in a rush. “I’m pregnant.”
Millie landed on her rear; the shock of it sent an ache up her spine.
He paced back and forth in front of her. “Dammit, Millie. How could this happen?”
From the floor, she stared up at him, her eyes wide. “What are we going to do?”
“You haven’t told your mama and daddy, have ya?” He asked, still moving.
“Goodness no. I wanted to tell you first.” She felt heat rising in her face. Anxiety coursed through her. Knowing what was coming, she was powerless to stop the words flowing out of her mouth. “But it’s going to be okay right? You said we’d always be together.”
“I know what I said,” Harold snapped as he stopped in front of her.
Looking at that scowl, she wished she had never said the words—wished he had never entered her father’s house. He pulled out a flask she had not seen before that night and took a swig. He dragged his sleeve over his mouth and returned the foul thing to his jacket pocket.
“Come on then,” his voice was gruff, almost a growl.
He snatched at her hand, dragged her off the floor and out the barn door, muttering to himself as he carted her behind him. “Was this yer plan, trap’n me like this?”
“No, Harold. You said…” The tears started rolling, but she choked back a sob that threatened to break free. “Where are we going?”
Millie stumbled, and Harold glared back over his shoulder at her. His expression was black as he yanked her upright without a break in his stride.
“Where do ya think? Get’n hitched, so yer daddy don’t string me up.”
millie shook herself from the past.
Now she truly loved someone, and not just someone but a man who treated her with kindness, who cared about her wellbeing, who valued her as she was.
Now someone loved her back and was willing to give up the future he had planned to find a way to be with her. What could she give him for such devotion? She didn’t even have the strength to touch him. She would never be able to deliver him the son he deserved. She had done that for a husband who neglected her cruelly, leaving her and their unborn son to starve. She blamed herself for not being strong enough to make her baby healthy, but now she understood where the blame truly fell.
Now she laid the fault soundly on the feet of the man who drank away the money that should have nourished them.
She couldn’t watch this show anymore. She needed to think, not wallow in self-pity. Having no way to turn the TV off, she left the room, drifting towards the kitchen. It was plain to see that Noah had not bothered to come back in here last night. Chairs sat abandoned, pushed back from the table, plates, and silverware with the food now cold and forgotten.
Millie couldn’t leave her home or Noah, but she couldn’t stay and watch him love someone else. Prior to last night, Millie at the least reconciled herself to his marriage plans, but now—he loved her back, and that changed everything.
“If you love someone let them go,” she told herself.
Her mother, God rest her soul, had told her that when Harold hadn’t come home. Millie never really loved Harold, not the way she loved Noah; she had clung to her husband in naiveté and desperation.
She would have to convince Noah to marry Claire, or if not her, someone else. If he wouldn’t listen, she would hide from him. Maybe if he didn’t see her, he would move on. Millie leaned against the counter and sighed heavily. Yeah, like he would really listen to her or let her hide. More importantly, she wasn’t so sure she could stay away.
The back door opened and the screen door clanged shut, shattering the silence and Millie’s tenuous hold on peace. She looked up, expecting to find Noah staring back at her, but found Claire instead.
Claire set down her grocery bags and leaned against the counter, unknowingly mirroring Millie. Her phone clutched in one hand, she kicked off her shoes. As her icy blue eyes scanned her surroundings, she coughed into the back of her hand.
“No, I can’t let him cancel the wedding,” Claire said to the person on the other end of the conversation. Her voice raspy with the effort to speak. “I’m going to make him dinner and turn on the charm. I don’t have another choice.”
Claire cleared the dishes from the table and scraped the plates into the garbage with the phone pinched between her shoulder and her cocked head.
Millie eyed her tight jeans, low cut top, and pouty red lips. She had certainly dressed to do the job, but Claire did not look well. Her breathing came out heavy and labored; there were bags under her eyes, and her face had a sickly pale sheen.
“I don’t need my inhaler, I’m just upset,” Claire said, as if in answer to Millie’s thoughts. “I can’t stand up in front of all those people and tell them to take back the gifts, there won’t be a wedding. I just can’t do it.”
Millie rolled her eyes; she hopped up to sit on the counter and watch, with her ankles crossed primly. It didn’t surprise her that shame motivated Claire, rather than love.
“No, I’m not telling him about the baby.”
Millie snapped to attention at this new information.
Claire continued, “I’ll tell him on our honeymoon like I planned to.”
A coughing fit racked Claire’s body for several long minutes. She covered the mouthpiece of her phone, hiding the sound, as she listened to the person on the other end of the line.
“Because he wouldn’t believe me right now. I do not want him to feel obligated to marry me. That’s only a last resort,” Claire shouted at the phone before dropping it.
Claire grabbed the counter with one hand, struggling to stay upright. She snatched her purse and dragged it to the floor as she went down. Claire frantically dumped the contents onto the floor, clutching at her throat with her other hand.
Millie jumped down off the counter and backed her way along the wall, frightened by Claire’s struggle for air. Millie flashed back to her own struggle to breathe as the noose tightened and she swung from the attic rafters. The tips of her toes grazed the stool beneath her.
When the memory cleared, she found herself kneeling before Claire’s prone body. The French manicured nails that had ceased to scratch her delicate throat turned blue, her eyes rolled back, and she lay still as the color drained from her face.
“I can’t stand in front of all those people and tell them,” said Claire’s spirit as she sat across from Millie, looking over the top of her body. “Maybe it’s better this way.”
“What about the baby?” Millie’s arms folded protectively over her own stomach, remembering what she went through to have her child and the pain of losing him.
“Noah doesn’t need to know,” Claire answered. “Have you come to take me to heaven?”
“No, I’m Millie. I live in the house.”
Claire’s face scrunched up in confusion for a moment, but it passed quickly. “You could tell them for me? Tell them the wedding is off and that I’m sorry?”
Millie sat back on her heels, her mind reeling with the possibility Claire had offered. A second chance at life, with Noah and a child—to experience real love.
She grappled with the moral implications. Was it right to take advantage, when she should be talking the dying woman into going back? But if Claire freely made the choice who was she to deny her?
The room suddenly became blindingly bright. As it dimmed,
both women looked up at the light, glowing warmly from the kitchen doorway. Heaven—had it finally come to collect her? I don’t want to leave.
Claire smiled back at Millie as she stood to go. “Thank you for telling them.”
Claire walked into the light.
That was it—“them”—appearances. No thought for Noah, the man she was to marry, the father of the child in her dying body or even for the child. No care for what they deserved—just like Harold hadn’t cared.
Millie had seconds to decide before the light would be gone and this chance passed. Her heart knew what it wanted, what everyone deserved, no matter whether it was right or wrong.
Millie laid down in Claire’s body, and her long dulled perception became flooded with sensations, as this new body fought to hold on. Her chest and throat burned. If there had been anyone to hear her cry for help, she couldn’t have. As her vision began to fade to black, a familiar clang echoed through the kitchen and her heart.
“Claire! Why are you—oh my God, hang on,” Noah yelled.
Millie could hear banging, then the press of his hand in hers and the warmth of his body beside hers. A body, she could physically feel him and would experience more if she could just make it a little longer.
“I’ve got your inhaler,” Noah’s clipped words projected tension and fear. “Can you sit up?”
When she couldn’t respond, Noah reached under her back, lifting her just enough to tilt her head, while he shook the inhaler. The plastic tube pressed to her mouth and a puff of medication released down her throat.
Seconds passed, and the pressure eased, but not enough. Millie could hear him dialing the phone and talking to someone. Then the plastic tube pressed to her mouth again, and the heaviness in her chest and throat improved more. She drew in a shallow breath that made a horrible wheezing sound. Then the coughing started. Noah helped her lean forward, the weight on her chest lifted, and she was able to cough more.
Until Death Do Us Part: Haunted Romance Series Book 1 Page 5