Resurrecting Harry

by Phillips, Constance

  And his kiss.

  When their lips touched, something immense opened up inside. An emptiness that only he could fill. And how she wanted him to kiss her deeper, pull her tighter, and erase the months of pain and tears. In the same way that her desire grew, guilt crept in. After everything Harry had been to her, how could she find pleasure with another?

  Standing, she put her arms through the sleeves of the jacket, not caring about how loosely it hung. It comforted her, as if she was wrapped in his embrace. Only God knew what she’d do the day it stopped smelling like him. Wiping tears from her cheeks, she left the room and ambled toward the kitchen.

  If Harry would just speak to her alone, going on would be easier. She needed him to do this one thing just for her. And he would, if she just believed enough in him. In the kitchen, she poured a small glass of brandy from Gail’s silver flask and took a small sip.

  She hoped the bitter fluid would erase the sweet taste of Erich that still lingered. Closing her eyes, she could feel his soft lips and his strong arms. Shaking off the traitorous hunger, she downed the remaining contents of the glass and refilled it.

  This won’t work unless you have only Harry in your heart and mind.

  Sitting at the table, she looked at the Ouija board for a moment. She then lit each of the six candles surrounding the board and focused on her heart, pushing aside every other emotion except for the love that tied her to Harry.

  Resting her hands on her lap, she focused on the small ivory triangle. Dare she hope Harry could move it without her touch? “Speak to me, Harry. Come back to me.”

  Staring hard at the piece, she willed it to move until tears clouded her vision.

  Why can’t I do this? Is my faith too shallow?

  She laid two fingers of each hand on separate sides of the triangle, keeping her touch light, like Gail had shown her. Closing her eyes and digging deeper, she said, “I believe in you, Harry. I know you can do it. Tell me in our way that you believe too.”

  Move, damn it!

  “Talk to me, Harry,” she pleaded. No matter how she tried to swallow them, the tears bubbled to the surface and slid down her cheeks. Her voice cracked, but the small piece of ivory lay dead under her touch.

  Dead…like Harry.

  “Please…Harry…talk to me!” The tears streamed now, and her lips trembled. Yet again, nothing happened. She picked up the ivory and threw it across the room. It hit one of the cabinets and bounced back. If she hadn’t darted to the side, it would have smacked her in the middle of the forehead.

  Not knowing what else to do, she slapped her hand against the brandy glass, sending it off the edge of the table and enjoying the satisfying crash as it hit the floor. Broken: like her life. Shattered: like her heart.

  She stared at the mess, before standing to clean it up. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, tipping her off balance, so she stumbled back up the steps instead. Collapsing on her bed, she wrapped Harry’s coat tighter. The room spun, and her stomach heaved.

  Guilt over Erich’s kiss is what made her so dizzy. So why was it his touch and his kiss that she longed for as consciousness slipped away?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The scent of baking bread permeated Bess’s sleep. Sunlight streaked through the window, warming her face. The pounding in her head increased. She could almost hear Harry saying the hangover was a just punishment for drinking alcohol. Almost. That voice that had whispered in her ear since Harry’s death had been garishly silent since Erich had taken up residence.

  Bess got out of bed and shook the cobwebs away, refusing to feel guilty for sleeping in. She’d earned a lazy morning after caring for Erich around-the-clock for two days.

  Erich.

  He’d been alone for hours. What if the fever had returned? What if he’d needed her and she’d not been there? Bess hurried down the hall only to find his room empty and the bed made. She retraced her steps and headed toward the staircase. The warm aroma hit her again.

  Was Erich fixing her breakfast? Surely he hadn’t gone from lying at death’s door to cooking in mere days.

  Entering the kitchen, she found him opening the oven and peering in at his work. The muscles in his arms flexed and tightened as he closed the door and stood. The thin, white tank top veiled his chest, failing to hide the ripples of his abdomen. Those arms had felt so good around her, and the lips that now smiled proudly had tasted as sweet as the honey he’d been using to baste the bread.

  She bristled at the memories. Erich was not the one she should be focusing on. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re going to undo all the progress you’ve made.”

  Erich took a step back and lowered himself to one of the stainless steel chairs. “I know I upset you last night.”

  “You’ll get no arguments from me.”

  “I wanted to make it up to you by fixing breakfast.”

  She poured two cups of coffee, set one down in front of Erich and joined him at the table. “I appreciate you going to all the trouble, but I don’t want you to exert yourself too soon.”

  “I’m feeling much better today. It only took me twenty minutes to make it down the steps.”

  They were having a civil conversation and ignoring the big, white elephant in the room — the kiss they’d shared. Did it burn in Erich’s memory too? If so, he didn’t show it.

  He picked up the decanter from the center of the table and poured just a touch of cream into his coffee and then followed it with two heaping teaspoons of sugar. The spoon hitting the sides of her china sparked yet another memory of Harry.

  Coincidence. It had to be. Countless men must take their coffee that way and grip their spoon in the same manner Harry did. It wasn’t like he was a carbon copy. For each and every similarity between Harry and Erich there were two differences.

  She lifted her cup and sipped as if it would drown the smoldering flames of lust. Two days ago Heaven had sent an angel to take him home. Did the fact that she felt such strong feelings for a man who needed her care more than her passion make her a harlot?

  Taking the napkin from her lap and placing on the table, she turned from him and her thoughts and toward the stove. She opened the oven and pulled out the loaf of golden-brown bread. “It smells and looks wonderful. You surprise me.”

  A rich laugh erupted from him. “It’s not a gourmet meal.”

  As she rejoined him at the table, she noticed he was cradling the area of his stomach with the incision. She reached out and grabbed a hold of the cotton tank top, trying to lift it from his body.

  His hand closed around her wrist, holding it firm. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to check—”

  He leaned in so close she could feel the heat of his breath brush her cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, Bess. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but if we’re to avoid situations like last night, maybe I should do it myself.”

  His gruff tone and rough cadence touched her very core, making her stomach quiver like gelatin. Easing away, she set her hands in her lap. Maybe if she clasped them together, she could resist the urge to rub them against his unshaven cheek. She wanted to argue, insist she could remain detached, but he’d know it was a lie.

  They both knew she’d experienced all the passion that he’d left unspoken in that single kiss. His feelings were as intense as the ones gnawing at her, and he was right. Physical closeness would only fuel the fire. “The bread should be cool enough to slice. Would you like some lox?”

  “Please.”

  The clanking of the spoon resumed. She busied herself slicing the bread, spreading a bit of Brie and topping it off with the lox, afraid if she turned back to him, she’d submit to the passion.

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or cold, Bess. I just don’t want to overstep any boundaries or act inappropriately. I regret that I upset you.”

  Regret. Somehow that word didn’t accurately reflect her feelings. His arms around her shoulders and neck, his fingers in her hair and his tongue dancing again
st her lips and the roof of her mouth — she’d apologize for none of it. It warmed the cool chill that had consumed her since Harry’s death and awoke a hunger in her heart. No, she didn’t lament Erich’s kiss.

  But then there were the vows she’d made to Harry? She’d promised to keep his legacy alive and the first step was this fast approaching séance.

  Digging for the strength to face Erich again, she pivoted and found him staring at the Ouija board. Having heard his feelings on the subject already, she expected anger from him. Instead, she saw despair. Or was that disappointment? And why did it matter? She wasn’t beholden to him. His opinion should be meaningless, but for some reason it wasn’t. It bothered her that he disapproved.

  And the broken glass? The memory of sending it to its doom invaded her mind, but there were no traces on the floor. Erich had cleaned it up, but said nothing.

  He tapped his fingers against the table and asked, “Aren’t you warm in that heavy wool coat?”

  She placed the plates on the table and then wrapped her arms around her shoulders, letting the rough fabric scratch at her palms as she took her chair. The oven always made the kitchen unbearably hot, but taking the coat off hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I didn’t put it on because I was cold. It’s Harry’s. I feel close to him when I wear it.” Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to swallow the blush. But her embarrassment wasn’t from wanting to keep her husband close.

  Erich picked up the ivory triangle off the Ouija board and slid his thumb over it. “What if there is nothing after death. For how long are you committed to trying to communicate with Harry?”

  Good question. Would her need for one more word from him ever wane? “For as long as I believe there’s a chance.”

  “If you just put him to rest, you could have so many good years ahead of you.”

  “What? With you?”

  He shrugged. “Would that be so awful? You deserve a future and some peace of mind.”

  Have I ever felt that? Bess couldn’t remember a time of contentment. Even in Harry’s company. They lived on the edge, pushed the limits. Wouldn’t tranquility be nice for a change? “There will be time for that.” The soft words passed her lips, and didn’t sound genuine even to her own ears. Why should they? The words weren’t hers, they were Harry’s knee-jerk response every time she pleaded to leave the road and build a family.

  “I’d think if you learned anything from your husband’s passing it would be that tomorrow is the one thing you can’t count on being there.”

  “Harry asked for only one thing, and I owe him my best efforts.”

  “The séance?”

  She darted her eyes away from him and the table. He thought she was a fool for clinging to Harry. While other’s opinions meant little to her, she wanted Erich to approve of her actions and that frustrated her. “It’s going to be a huge event, and I’m so unprepared.”

  “And that’s mostly because of me.” Erich pushed his nearly empty plate aside, tapped the triangle on the table a few times. Setting it back on the board, he continued, “I wanted to do something nice for you, fix you a meal. Instead, you served me again. I’m sorry.”

  Her lower lip curled between her teeth. Just when she thought she had Erich all figured out, he did something to confound her. “That’s it? You’re going to just drop it?”

  “Will anything I say change your mind?”

  She shook her head, picked up the plates from the table and took them to the sink. What possessed such a young, handsome man to take her in his arms the way he had last night? And worse, why was she more titillated than offended? “Let me clean up the dishes, and then I’ll change your bandage. Joseph said he would stop by today to check up on you.”

  The chair legs scraped against the floor and she looked to Erich. His hands were braced against the table as he tried to lift himself. “I already told you. I’ll tend to myself.”

  “I don’t mind, Erich, and I don’t blame you for anything.”

  A knowing smile turned his lips. “I believe you mean that, Bess, but I still think it’s best if I do it myself.”

  At his side, she put a hand on the small of his back and took his elbow with the other. “You’re still weak and I promised to care—”

  Their eyes met. As he spoke, she couldn’t help but watch his mouth move, the same one that had caressed hers. “You’re a very kind and gracious woman, and I took advantage of that. It’s unfair of me to ask you to continue.”

  She should release him from his guilt. Tell him that she enjoyed his kiss and wanted another. Instead, she’d let him care for his wound, grateful to not have the temptation of his flesh. “Can you make it into the parlor on your own? The couch is old, but it’s comfortable.”

  “If we raced, you’d beat me hands down, but I think I can make it.” He picked up his coffee cup from the table. “Would it be all right—”

  “Or course.” She let go of him, but stood close, making sure he was stable, and then grabbed the pot from the stove to refill his cup. She asked, “Would it be easier if I carried it for you?”

  “I think I can make it.”

  She grabbed his elbow and took a step closer, wanting him to feel that she wasn’t angry about his kiss, even if she couldn’t find the words to express it. “It’s not your fault that I’ve been ignoring my obligations to Harry and this séance. I want to continue to help you get better.”

  He locked his eyes on where her hand touched his and after a few long seconds, he let his fingers graze her hand. “I’m grateful for that, Bess, but I am getting better and it’s important that I rebuild my strength so I can get back to my job and my obligations to you.”

  Though he moved slowly, with one hand on his stomach, he walked from the room. He didn’t shuffle his feet or drag them against the floor. Did that mean he was really doing better or that he was trying too hard to prove to her he was? She went back to the sink and filled it with soapy water to clear away the dishes. How simple it would be if she could wash away her desires for Erich as easily as she would the crumbs.

  ***

  Reclining against the back of the sofa, he pulled the tails of the cotton tank out of his pants and slid it up his body. Lifting the gauze, he peered at the closed-tight incision. It looked neat and clean compared to just a few days ago, and a sigh of relief eased the burden he’d been carrying. He was getting better, but did that really matter? If he didn’t accomplish his task, this body would still end up committed to the ground.

  He wouldn’t give up, but Bess was resolute in her obligation to Harry and unwavering in her adoration. Competing with the memories seemed impossible. Still, there had to be something he could say or do.

  Then, there was Martin, Gail and Joseph. They were using her need to contact Harry to form a bond and make a place for themselves in her life, and it wouldn’t stop with one séance. He was certain their negative influence and greed precipitated the gnarly road she stumbled down and Jaden foretold. But how to discredit the Coopers and the healer?

  Through the door between the living room and kitchen, he could see her descending the steps, dressed for the day. The stage coat gone, he wondered if she’d tucked it back in the chest, hidden it — and Harry — from the outward world once again.

  She swerved into the kitchen and reappeared less than a minute later carrying a tray. Setting it on the coffee table in front of him, she said, “Everything you need to clean and bandage your incision is right here. Are you sure you don’t want me to help you?”

  He gripped the arm of the couch and attempted to pull himself to his feet. “Give me a moment to do this and then I’ll go with you. I’m going stir-crazy here.”

  Her tongue clicked against her mouth twice as she shook her head. “I need to get to town and back this morning. Stay here and rest and we can eat dinner out in the yard this afternoon.”

  Standing toe to toe with her wasn’t endearing him and if he was going to get through to her, he needed to stop waging war and start mending fenc
es. “Certainly, Bess.”

  Her hand went straight to his forehead and a frown shaded her recent warm glow. “Compliance is not your usual mode. You don’t feel feverish?”

  “It’s a new leaf.” Erich smirked and raised his eyebrow at her, even though her brief touch was enough to make his body scream for more.

  She went back to fussing with her handbag; accepting him at his word, perhaps? “Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  The sound of the back door closing echoed throughout the house. He was alone. He let his hand graze the arm of the sofa and his eyes scan the room. He remembered the first time they walked through the house. So much larger than any other place they lived before, Bess called it a castle. The moment she uttered those words, he knew his queen deserved nothing less.

  Those feelings of awe and wonder faded and with Bess’s care, the mausoleum had become a home — their home — warm and cozy. But like everything else in her life since Harry’s passing, the house had been neglected. And she had gone from being its ruling lady to a grieving captor.

  He still had three weeks to affect a change, and he’d also use that time to restore a bit of glory to the house. Another day of rest and he should be good as new.

  Careful of how he moved and reached, he washed the incision with peroxide and applied more of the medicine man’s magic paste. Despite the fact Jaden gave Joseph’s remedies a stamp of approval, Erich still questioned their effectiveness and the shaman’s motives. As he re-taped a clean bandage over the incision, there was a knock on the kitchen door. He was tempted to ignore it and save his strength for the picnic Bess promised, but curiosity got the best of him. “I’m coming as fast as I can!” Crossing the threshold to the utility room, he got a first look at their visitor and felt his eyebrows draw together.

  Martin.

  Erich couldn’t hide Harry’s anger or contempt for the doctor as he pushed open the old wooden door. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to see Bess.” Martin’s answer was simple like he didn’t owe Erich an explanation. Arrogance. Erich expected no less.