The Hummingbird Heart

by Howard, A. G.

  “Newton!” Ripping the covers aside revealed nothing but bed clothes. Even the shoes the child had been snuggled up to were gone. “Signore dell'OH. He’s missing!”

  Julian switched on the lamp, illuming the scene in amber light. “Willow, calm down. Tell me who this Newton is.”

  Willow dropped to the floor, lifting up the bed covers to look beneath the frame. Nothing—not even a dust ball. “A tiny lad. Yay high.” She stood and held her trembling hand level with her waist. “He can’t talk.” She spun in a circle, scoping out the room. “He’s an orphan. I’m responsible for him, Julian! He’s dependent upon me…” Highlights of her own abduction burst like bright light in her mind. Her helplessness, her terror.

  The familiar flutters awakened along her spine where her tattoo splayed its wings. “Someone took him!”

  “All right, now, sit down. You’re as pale as rice pudding.” Julian caught her wrist.

  She wrestled against him, her experience muddling her sensibilities. “I have to find him now!”

  Julian lifted her against her struggles and carried her to the bed. Propping her to sit, he knelt in front of her, hands on her knees. “Calm down. Stop jumping to conclusions. Let’s think this through, logically. Would he have gone back to steerage without you?”

  Willow couldn’t stop her mind from racing. “I-I don’t think so.” She nibbled her fingertips. “No. He was so excited to be here. To sleep in a real bed. And he couldn’t wait to taste the first class fare. No. Something happened. It had to have!”

  The room blurred through a film of unwelcome tears. The blue bedclothes and cinnamon cushioned walls and carpets swirled to a sickening hue of brownish-green. She jumped up and started for the door, nearly bowling Julian over. “I have to find him!” She slapped moisture from her lashes.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Julian lunged and caught her around the waist. “You’re not even properly dressed underneath that costume, remember?”

  Willow tried to pry his arms away, to wrestle free. “I haven’t time! He needs me.”

  Julian forced her to face him. Compassion merged with resolve in his steadfast gaze. “I can’t imagine you leaving such a small fellow all alone, feeling this fiercely for his protection.”

  “Of course I didn’t leave him alone. I’m not a beefwit. He had Nadia.”

  “Nadia. The one who let you into my room, I presume? Is she a scullery maid?”

  “No.” Breaking out of Julian’s hold, Willow moaned. “Ugh. We’re wasting time with this. That wretch must have talked him into leaving. Though I cannot imagine why she would, as determined as she was to see you in your skivvies.”

  “See me in my…?” Julian’s skin flushed. “But I don’t know any Nadia.”

  Willow considered if it was worth the explanation. Her musings fell stillborn upon a sniffling sound from inside the wardrobe. Julian heard it as well. He’d made the distance and thrown open the doors before Willow even arrived to glance around his shoulder. A pair of soulful black eyes—wet and glistening like pebbles in a creek—peered out from behind the wall of jackets, trousers, and vests. The child looked nothing less than terrified.

  “Is this your little mouse?” Julian looked over his shoulder at Willow.

  Willow dropped to her knees with arms outstretched, unable to stop the tears of relief. “Oh, Newton! Were you frightened, widget? Did you have a bad dream?”

  The child launched himself into her, nearly knocking her over.

  “Whoa there.” Julian stepped behind Willow, his legs supporting her back.

  She held the boy’s warm body, snuggling him as he cried. Newton kept pointing to his feet between sobs.

  “Do you know what he’s trying to say?” Julian ruffled the child’s hair.

  Willow met Julian’s gaze, sickened by the answer. “Someone broke in while we were at the gala. Newton managed to hide in the wardrobe. But they took Nadia … they stole the shoes.”

  Standing in his parlor, Julian pressed an ear against the bedchamber door. He thought he’d heard some movement on the other side. No doubt wishful thinking. Any sound would be muffled by the room’s cushion.

  When would they wake up already? They must still think it nighttime. It didn’t help that the sun was enmeshed in storm clouds.

  Julian’s night had been long and restless. He still couldn’t believe he’d managed to last the hours without sneaking in to stare at Willow. It had been no easy feat, to attempt sleep in a chair in the parlor, seeing the soft light filter from beneath the bedchamber door; all the while thinking of her body dewy from a bath and encased in his long underwear … sharing the bed with someone else.

  Nothing more humiliating than being envious of a six-year-old child.

  Julian shoved away from the door and flopped back into the chair that had been his bed last night, attempting to write his tasks for the day in his journal. He needed to return Willow’s hair to the barber and pay the man for any damage to it. He needed to find the shoes. And to that end, he needed to question Mr. Sala and his girls, for he still suspected Medusa was one of the thespians from the troupe.

  However, the words wouldn’t slide off his pen. The only goal he wanted to write was: Make love to Willomena, and that would never do. He had a responsibility to see her safely home and unblemished. He couldn’t toy with her innocence so blithely. Though he wouldn’t mind exploring her body in other ways. Growing somber on that thought, he finally settled for two words: Love Willomena.

  He’d never considered how deeply interwoven his mind, heart, and libido could be. He’d foolishly thought they could all be kept in separate compartments—giving one precedence and dominion as the other two waited patiently in the background. Until he realized that this particular woman, the one he’d grown up alongside … who he laughed with and fought with throughout his youth, touched every part of him.

  He considered it a blessing no one had seen through Willow’s disguise thus far—else he would’ve had a man or two to kill. The unfamiliar prick of possessiveness stabbed at his heart—a venom so potent it scalded his veins with every pump of blood. The thought of another man touching her, hurting her, was worse than unbearable. Yet in some warped, twisted way, it brought him to a place of utter clarity. To know that he could feel so deeply, that such intense emotions could flourish in the wilds of a stoic, straight-laced heart … well, it gave his entire future new vision.

  Taking off his spectacles and laying them aside, he pinched the bridge of his nose and strode to the misty window. He pressed his forehead against the chilled glass, his thoughts bouncing like the frothy waves. When he’d first stepped onto the promenade deck just before dawn in search of the captain, he’d been surprised to hear the thunder, to find the skies gray and swollen. Now they seemed to be getting thicker … darker.

  The captain had accepted Julian’s story. That his brothers had managed to sneak onboard. That he would pay their fare if need be, and keep them locked within his stateroom unless escorted by him. Then Julian sent a telegraph home—a bit cryptic since he had to rely on a crewman to send it—but it fit his lie enough, yet at the same time got the point across. He told his family not to worry about anyone gone missing from home, for they were indeed here on the ship and being cared for. He bade they not answer back, for things were better left in his hands. To please trust him to be responsible. He hoped they would honor the request, and not break the elaborate web he’d woven.

  Lost to his thoughts, Julian barely heard the bedchamber door creak open. He turned to find Newton looking up at him, wearing a judgmental scowl along with one of Julian’s dress shirts as a bed gown. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows so they would graze the boy’s wrists; the hem fluttered just above his ankles.

  Unnerved by the child’s severe scrutiny, Julian thought upon Willow’s strange tale of the ghost tied to the shoes: how the deceased Nadia was a part of Newton and his past—that the boy and ghost had worked together as a team to relieve Mr. Sala of his hair, though Will
ow had no inkling why.

  Staring at the little thief before him, Julian wondered if Newton could read more than just his dead sister’s thoughts. Perhaps he could read the thoughts of the living, as well, and he’d heard Julian’s inner grousing about his presence in the bedchamber. Perhaps Newton intended to cut Julian’s hair next.

  Julian flashed a glance to the bedchamber door to find it closed again. Willow must be dressing. He would be forced to make nice with the mouse on his own. Having not been around many children throughout his life, Julian found them almost as enigmatic and puzzling as ladies.

  Straightening his cravat, he fought his swelling tongue. “Good morning, Newton.”

  The boy’s expressive eyes narrowed to slits—so deep brown and fathomless, they appeared almost black. It reminded Julian of Mr. Sala’s penetrating gaze, birthing a wild theory that would require further introspection. With the lad scrubbed clean, he definitely appeared to be of foreign descent, considering his dusky skin tone and the color of his damp hair. Perchance he couldn’t even understand English. Though he seemed to understand Willow well enough.

  “Um. All right then. Did you rest peacefully?” Julian attempted again, biting back his envy for the tot’s sleeping arrangements.

  Not even attempting communication, the lad ambled over to the chair and climbed astride. There he sat, a miniature prince on his throne, ready to crush Julian beneath his royal thumb. The expression upon his face was not one of confusion. It was intelligent disdain. He understood every word Julian said, but simply refused to respond.

  Julian could sympathize with the boy being unable to speak. But why the obvious malignity? At least with Willow, Newton made an effort to gesture and pantomime his needs and thoughts.

  Determined to forge an alliance, Julian strode to the table to retrieve a steel dome-lidded tray he had filled with delicacies from the first class café not twenty minutes earlier: buttered eggs; toasted Gloucester cheese over sizzling, ripe tomatoes; and almond-iced sweet rolls.

  “I understand you want to sample some first-class fare. Would you like to start with breakfast?” Tilting the lid, Julian loomed over the lad, just close enough that the aromatic steam swirled in a cloud around them both. Julian ignored his growling stomach. He had to wait for some sort of response before dishing out the food.

  Newton lifted his chin, his tiny nostrils quivering. Still, he didn’t budge.

  Stubborn. “Aren’t you hungry, mouse? The bread and cheese last night … that’s nothing to the savory delights on this tray. These sweet rolls, mmm. The icing melts on your tongue like sugared snow.”

  The boy smacked his lips, the ire behind his eyes softening an almost indiscernible degree.

  Julian checked the grin that wanted to break over his lips. He returned the boy’s silence, along with his stare. Balancing the tray on his palm, he took off the lid and dropped it to the floor. The clang reverberated through his teeth. Sweet roll in hand, Julian lifted it to his mouth. He took a bite, holding the child’s gaze as he chewed. “Mmm, mmm. Spectacular. Should you want some for yourself”—he swallowed—“all you need do is nod. A simple nod, yes or no.”

  Newton’s chin set. He clambered to his knees in the chair. Without any warning, he gripped the tray, nearly managing to steal it from Julian’s hold. Julian had to drop his sweet roll to secure the opposite end.

  Glaring at one another, the two engaged in a tug-of-war.

  “All I’m asking,” Julian said through clenched teeth, “is a bit of civility.”

  Newton tightened his hold.

  Giving it one last attempt, Julian clamped his fingers over the tray so hard the metal edge bit into his fingers. He leaned back slightly, using his body for leverage yet careful not to totter Newton from his perch. “A wink. I’ll take a blasted wink. Simply show a little effort.”

  The boy smiled like the Devil himself and released the tray.

  Julian crashed backward to the floor, sizzling eggs and seedy tomatoes slapping against his chest. Grease and hot yolk seeped through his thin shirt to scald his skin.

  Cursing, Julian raked the mess off with a clatter of silver. Newton snickered, an imp in a cherub’s form.

  The burn on Julian’s chest fired his temper. He scrambled to his feet. Before the lad could jump down from his perch, Julian secured his elbows, pinning them to Newton’s sides as he held him on the chair at arm’s length. Newton’s legs bucked out, one at a time, but Julian managed to deflect the kicks.

  “Calm down, would you?” Julian snarled.

  Butting out a knee, Newton almost guffed Julian in the ribs. Julian lifted him up to eye level. The boy’s feet dangled in midair as he struggled to get free. “If you’ll but show a little remorse, just a trifle, we can work together and clean this mess.”

  Newton let out a screech as piercing as a hawk’s cry.

  The bedchamber door flung open. “Put him down!” Willow stood on the threshold, fresh and breathtaking in Julian’s lavender shirt with her treasured watch pinned to the lapel. Straight-legged trousers hugged her hips—the hems rolled to cuffs and the waist held up by suspenders which skimmed the outside of her breasts and pulled the shirt’s fabric taut. Julian almost forgot the squirming captive in his grip.

  Her hair had been brushed smooth. She’d fastened the long bangs behind her ears with the pins she’d used the night before to hold her Zeus’s headpiece in place. With it back to its natural color, the hairstyle showcased her incredible eyes and thick lashes even more than last night.

  Julian wanted to tell her she looked ravishing. Instead, his throat dried and expanded, as if he were gulping down an entire desert. “You will have to wear a hat and jacket if you’re to leave this room at all.” After realizing what he’d blurted out, Julian could’ve kicked himself. Instead, Newton managed to do it for him, clipping Julian in the stomach.

  Disgusted with the entire situation, Julian seated the little thief back in the chair. Newton screeched again as Julian held the boy in place by his shoulders. The sound sliced his eardrums. “Any child that can make this much hullabaloo can certainly find a way to communicate and be civil.”

  Gaping at the display—the room’s mess, Julian’s hold on Newton—Willow shook her head in disbelief. “Whatever are you doing?” Her voice held the same anxious inflection as it had the night before when she’d convinced herself the boy had been kidnapped. “Let. Him. Go.”

  The instant Julian liberated Newton’s shoulders, the tot’s bare feet dropped to the floor and he ambled toward Willow. He threw his arms around her, burrowing his face into her abdomen.

  Julian scowled. “Unbelievable. No doubt my chest is sprouting puss-filled blisters as we speak. I’m the one that suffered the brunt of the encounter, yet you’re not showing the least concern for me.”

  Willow frowned as she led Newton back to the chair. “You’re the one reputed to be an adult.” She settled the tray on Newton’s lap and offered a sweet roll, waiting for Newton to start munching on his breakfast. She patted his head. “Do you have a map?”

  Julian gaped, dumbfounded, realizing the question was directed at him. “A map? Whatever for?”

  “He likes to look at maps. It is what he does to entertain himself. I want to occupy him so I might address you. In private.”

  Julian turned to his desk and dug through the drawer where he kept his ride designs and paper work. “I don’t have a map, but the former occupant left a copy of the ground plans for the World’s Fair in his haste to abscond this room with half his hair gone.” Julian shot an accusatory glance over at Newton. The boy continued to fill his cheeks with sweet roll, seemingly oblivious to the inference. “I need to return it, but you may look at it for now.” Julian held the diagram out to Newton.

  The boy refused to touch it until Willow took it and gave it to him. Then, satisfied by his interest in the topographical markings, she motioned for Julian to follow her into the bedchamber.

  He eased the door shut behind him, leaving it cracked e
nough to hear the sporadic rattle of the ground plans and clang of silverware. He threw a winsome gaze at the unmade bed. A flood of torrid fantasies—each of them entailing Willow’s naked body twined around his like a snake on a pagan statue—slammed through his brain. When he met her reproachful glare, he felt smaller than the specks of dust floating in the air between them.

  “Never do that to him again,” she said.

  “Do what? Try to induce him to attempt an interchange with me? I wasn’t bloody asking him to speak, Willow. Just to connect in some way. He was staring at me as if I were pig’s slop—purposely ignoring my every effort. And I’ve done nothing to merit such disrespect. I gave him my bed, after all. The bed you were sleeping in. By the by, you wouldn’t have needed to burn that blasted lantern all night, had I been holding you in my arms.”

  Her cheeks flushed, making her eyes even more vivid. Lord, he wanted to kiss her; but the way she looked at him … as if unsure who he was … unsettled him.

  “He blames you.” Willow’s eyebrows furrowed. “For Nadia’s absence. For the stolen shoes.”

  “What? Why? I had nothing to do with—oh.” Newton must have eavesdropped last night and overheard Willow suggest Medusa was sent by someone to distract Julian while her accomplice ransacked the stateroom. Willow conjectured it was tied to the first time she and Newton had been here and stolen the shoes—how she overheard two women outside Julian’s door planning to come in for something. Combined with the fact that Julian instigated a steerage-wide search for the shoes amongst the immigrants, it was no small wonder that the mouse blamed him. In Newton’s eyes, Julian had endangered the boy’s dead sister … however ludicrous such a concern seemed.

  The egg yolk on Julian’s chest started to dry—tightening to any itchy crust. He loosened his cravat and scratched absently. “Well, he could have stuck his tongue out or brandished a kidney punch. I just don’t like being ignored.”

  “And he doesn’t like being held up high like that. He’s afraid of heights.”