Haunting Refrain

by Mary Marvella

  When she bared a breast, he held his breath. When she exposed the other one, he gulped air. She dropped the cover and he was lost. He would pleasure her and stop before he lost control. He dared not spill his seed in her. He dared not take the chance of making her with child.

  William’s ears rang. Five bongs? Startled, he opened his gritty eyes. The darkness of his study meant he had missed the first chimes of the big hall clock. It wasn’t often he slept through the hourly chimes since his return. He had been away from the sounds of rifle fire and cannons which often interrupted his dreams. Hell, they were his dreams.

  What the -? He preferred the erotic dreams. How long had he dreamed this time? His dry throat hurt. His earlier erotic dreams had been tame compared to those plaguing him since Sarah had given him these journals.

  He skimmed through several recent Psychological Journal articles about patients’ reports of seeing ghosts.

  Investigations into the existence of supernatural beings had not been conclusive. Not one article proved or disproved anything.

  Near midnight he decided to switch to reincarnation research. Many reported cases had been proven bogus. Some left doubt. No help there, either.

  At two a.m. he turned his computer on and started a special file on Reincarnation. New document one he titled Personal reactions re Journals. For seconds he stared at the screen, wondering what he really wanted to say. He took a deep, cleansing breath, then began to record his comments. He needed to free associate for a while. That method had always helped him sort out his problems.

  He typed as a man driven. Random thoughts and memories poured onto the screen.

  I do not believe in the supernatural, or magic, or ghosts, but there are things I cannot explain. How can I know things about people from the past? Sometimes I feel as though I am in the mind of another man.

  How can I dream about things I don’t know, then read about them later in these accursed journals of a woman from more than a hundred years ago? I feel as though I know of her and the man she mentions in her writings. What makes no sense is that I know how he felt. How he must have felt? No, how he felt about Sarita, his wife.

  I know too much about Walter. Maybe there is a family connection and shared - what? Dreams can seem like memories. They are triggered by so much around us, books we read, movies, television, conversations, and memories --

  William stopped only long enough to stretch. He wandered to the kitchen and nabbed a can of Coke, then returned to his typing.

  Walter had a limp from a battlefield wound. William closed his eyes again for a second.

  The field surgeons had wanted to take the leg but through his raging fever he’d heard the voice of his Sarita. Maybe she had come to him through his dreams because he had called to her. Maybe he had heard the voice of another woman. What he knew for certain was that she had tended his wound and bathed his forehead. Vile-tasting concoctions had made him want to gag but had eased his pain. When he awoke orderlies had told him about the angel who had brought needed medicines and saved many lives. Somehow he had never learned who she was. No one knew.

  William had lost control to the voice in his head. He saw his hands strike the keys but he couldn’t explain the words he read on the screen. Pictures ran through his mind, men on a battlefield, cannons belching fire, bodies falling. Smells gagged him, gun smoke, blood, rotting flesh. Feelings swamped him in pain, despair, anger.

  He wanted to stop the madness that allowed the words to flow unchecked. He needed to take back control. The scientist in him wanted to know more. The man in him feared what he would learn that he couldn’t handle.

  He continued to type. Sometimes he saw the words. Sometimes he just felt and ached. How could he recognize things he had never seen or odors he’d never smelled? He willed himself to stop, but he typed on.

  People aged while I was away. Thanks to Sarita’s daddy’s suggestion that they use hidden caves and dig tunnels under their buildings to store goods and even livestock, passing troops had not taken everything. Will the war ever end? Will my Sarita return when it does? – A soldier on his way home delivered a letter from her. How had she learned I was home? –

  He yawned but continued.

  We work with no rest and can barely feed the few of us at home. We send supplies to support a hopeless cause.” --

  Sometimes William struggled against tears.

  Sarita’s return made me the happiest man alive.

  Morning light seeped through the blinds in his study but still he typed.

  “William?” Sarah’s voice broke through the spell. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone about the way he had spent his night. He closed the file. Thank God for auto-save.

  “Hey, lover, you’re up early.” Sarah walked through his study door.

  “Just doing a little research.” He signed online.

  “Check my note to you.” She tousled his mussed hair.

  He laughed as he read her suggestion. “You really think we can do that?”

  “We can try.”

  He turned his chair to pull her to his lap.

  “God, did you sleep at all? You look awful.”

  “Thanks a lot. That makes me feel good.”

  “I mean, your clothes are wrinkled and you look – not like yourself. I think you need to go to bed. I could tuck you in.”

  The idea of taking Sarah to bed aroused him. Then it concerned him. Why?

  William allowed Sarah to pull him into his room. He watched her close his blinds and drapes to shut out the daylight, then pull his covers down. Her every move was graceful and efficient. She unbuttoned his shirt as though they had all the time in the world. When she unsnapped his jeans he expected her to play, to tease him. She didn’t.

  Instead she eased him to the bed to sit, then pressed him to lie down and covered him with the sheet. He wanted to reach for her. The voice inside said he needed a nap.

  Of course he knew she hadn’t planned to let him sleep. His Sarah could make love to him and he would feel complete. He’d forget about the people who plagued his days and nights.

  He lay, waiting for her to follow one of her sexy suggestions.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. He couldn’t resist her gentle persuasion. His senses heightened, he heard the sounds of undressing, the whisper of a zipper, silk caressing skin and landing on the floor. He heard her shoes slide over the floor. She would stand before him a goddess and he wanted to disobey her instructions though his eyes felt glued shut.

  He had begun to sink into unconsciousness when he felt the bed give from her slight weight. Waiting for her to touch him, he listened to the ticking clock in the hall. Her naked skin awakened his need. He could not fight his way to the part of himself that would let him reach out and touch her.

  Heated satin slid across his body. Gentle hands soothed his flesh. He had expected to awaken and make love to her. He could only feel.

  “You need to rest,” he heard, but he wanted to make love to the woman in his bed. She wrapped him in her warmth, making soothing sounds, kissing his forehead, then his eyelids. Any second he would rouse himself, and cover her - and love her.

  Lethargy claimed him, preventing movement. He was tired enough for two people. The clock in the hall ticked loud, and steady, and hypnotizing.

  ##

  Sarah missed spending the night in William’s arms. When she’d entered his house she’d meant to wake him with breakfast. She wanted to tell him about her talk with her ghosts. But he looked so tired she knew he needed rest. She didn’t remember ever seeing him so exhausted.

  After several hours online, she had made a list of books on reincarnation. Her first stop after breakfast would be the University library. What she didn’t find there, she’d search for at the county library. Who’d have thought there were so many books about something so few people believed?

  Now he slept peacefully. His thick hair needed a trim. The curl lying across his forehead wound around her finger when she brushed it from his face. Wh
at had kept him up all night? He’d closed his current document awfully quickly. What was he hiding? Whatever he had been doing had exhausted him so much that their naked bodies hadn’t stirred him.

  Sharing his warmth had made her feel whole. Seeing how tired he was brought out her maternal instincts. Though she’d love to spend hours watching him sleep, she had much to do.

  Sarah set his alarm to let him get a couple of hours sleep, then dressed. After her library trips she’d hide out and read.

  Three hours later, in the nearly deserted school library, she wished she had a shopping cart.

  The pimple-faced kid at the circulation desk o-o-oed and a-a-hed over her selection and even suggested his favorites.

  “So who were you in past lives?” he asked in that library hush.

  “I don’t know. These are for research.” She didn’t want to engage in swapping past-life tales.

  “Well, you gotta try past life regression. I was a –“

  “I’d love to hear all about it sometime but,” She made a show of checking her watch. “I’m on my way to a meeting and I’m late already.”

  “Sure, be glad to tell you all about it.”

  “You aren’t a music major, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What a shame,” she called as she escaped. Not. The whole concept was too new and too personal to discuss with anyone.

  Only her faculty status allowed her to checkout enough books to need three trips to her car.

  How long would it take for word to spread around the campus that she was a reincarnation kook?

  Sarah arrived home in time to see a familiar florist truck pull away from her house. She steeled herself before opening her door. Damn, she needed to have a heart-to-heart with Peter.

  Inside she paused to read the card on the large floral arrangement she had known would be there. At least there was only one this time. Her hesitation to open the card turned to distress once she did. Oh, no. She really had to have that talk with Peter. It was long overdue.

  Eloise spoke behind Sarah’s shoulder. “He doesn’t take a hint, does he?” Her Evening in Paris scent should’ve warned of her approach.

  “He wants to take me to dinner on Saturday. He says he’ll pick me up at five to drive to Atlanta. Pack your dancing shoes, he said.”

  Sarah dialed the number he’d left for her. She watched Eloise pace while she counted the rings. After the tenth ring she hung up. “No voice mail or answering machine, I guess. I’ll try again in a bit.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Eloise looked confused.

  “Never mind.” Sarah turned toward the front door.

  “Leaving so soon?” Eloise pouted. “You just got home.”

  “I’m going to bring some stuff from my car. Wanna help?”

  “Sure,” Eloise followed Sarah to the door.

  “Just kidding. You can’t leave the house, can you?”

  “Never tried before.” Eloise shrugged. She stepped into the doorway. Sarah couldn’t miss the look of longing as her ghost hesitated on the threshold. Her form shimmered, as though she trembled.

  “Hey, I’ll be back in a minute. Wait here.” Sarah hurried to her car for her first load of books. When she returned Eloise still stood in the doorway. Maybe she should have checked out books on ghosts and what they could and couldn’t do. What if her ghosts had abilities they didn’t know they had or hadn’t shared?

  The ghost backed inside when Sarah paused in front of her. “I wanted to help.” Eloise’s plaintive voice made Sarah smile. She stacked books beside the love seat in the wide entry hall.

  “Back in a minute.” She hurried out again. This time she returned to find Mattie with Eloise.

  Mattie sat on the floor reading the book titles. “Why would a young lady need to read all these books on,” she paused. “reincarnation?”

  “Maybe she just likes to read weird stuff.” Eloise laughed. She seemed to have recovered from her sad mood.

  “How do you know it’s weird?” Sarah frowned.

  Mattie stared at Sarah like she tried to read her thoughts. “Is this reading about your questions about your being cousin Sarita?”

  Could ghosts read minds? “Yes, I need to find out what believers have to say about how it works.”

  “You spent a lot of time on that computer machine last night,” Eloise commented. “I saw you reading and typing for hours. Maybe you could teach me how it works.”

  “Why would you want to know such things?” Mattie asked Eloise.

  “Weren’t you fascinated by the radio, or the typewriter, or telephones, or the other wonders you said you saw in your lifetime?” Eloise asked.

  “Of course I was. I was not good with machines, even the old ones.”

  “Girls, I’ll teach both of you if you want me to. Please, now I need peace and quiet so I can do some reading.”

  “Fine,” Eloise huffed. So she was still in a mood.

  “Fine,” Sarah shrugged and walked away carrying three books. A Coke and three hours later Sarah sat on a chair in the music room and read. She had sped through the first book, affixing sticky notes on some pages. The first, by a real fruitcake, had offered some surprisingly clear answers to some of her questions. The second book catalogued reported cases and rebuttals to show they were fakes. The author really didn’t believe anyone could come back for a second life. Skimming to the end she slapped sticky notes on several pages of interest.

  “Sarah, aren’t you hungry?” Her mother called. She carried a dishtowel, wiping her hands as she walked over to Sarah. She bent to pick up the book Sarah had left on the end table beside her chair. “Past Life Regression to Find Your Other Selves. What are you up to now?”

  “I had some questions, that’s all.” Sarah put down her book. “Did you say supper’s ready, Mama? I’m famished.” She‘d have said anything to delay the conversation she needed to have with her parents once she was prepared, which she wasn’t. “Daddy home already?”

  “Daddy’s already waiting for you in the kitchen.”

  Sarah kneaded her back as she stood to follow her mother. After supper Sarah retrieved the other books she had left in the hall. The music room had been furnished as a parlor when Sarah’s first piano arrived. The old upright still occupied a special place beside a window. Sarah raised the cover and tested the middle C key. The tone rang clear. She played a scale, using the black and ivory keys in combinations to move from a sharp scale to a flat, from the key of C to B to G. This week away from her music seemed like it had been longer. How could she have let her obsession with Sarita take her away from her music?

  The Baby Grand piano beckoned from the middle of the gleaming hardwood floor. This instrument stayed tuned to perfection. She taught her students on the beautiful old upright. Her advanced students were allowed to sit at the elegant grand and play the classics.

  Sarah pulled out the padded bench and sat at her eighteenth birthday gift. The haunting melody of Chopin’s “Etude in E flat minor” flowed from her heart to her fingers and the piano. She had not understood the piece before. Oh, she had played it, but she had never realized the sadness and the love in the melody.

  That flowed into Franz Liszt and his melancholy Leiberstram. Her music would never be the same since she had fallen in love. And she was in love with William.

  ##

  William sat on his back porch listening to Sarah play her baby Grand. He could actually recognize the rich tones that had sung to his soul. With her windows open, he could hear almost as well as if he were in the same room with her.

  He’d seen four-year old Sarah laughing and singing when her first piano arrived. He’d watched her tiny fingers practice scales and plunk out funny tunes. Though he couldn’t play, he could recognize a mistake in the pieces he’d heard her play over the years. The music was part of him as it was part of Sarah.

  His imagination drew from his memories of practices and performances. He could visualize her straight back as she coaxed and demanded her
piano to do as she bade, to produce her music. At times she had seemed at one with the instrument. Something jarred him. The tune she played sounded odd. He hadn’t heard Sarah play it, but he had heard it before. Where had he heard it? He hummed with the music, imagining a violin joining the piano. A violin? He hadn’t heard anyone play a violin at Sarah’s house. He did know that tune, though. Words raced round and round trough his memory. “Love, never leave me, I could not live without you.” Something, something. “You are my heart forever.” He hadn’t heard Sarah play the song before tonight. Or had he? He’d ask her where she’d found it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Peter needed a stiff drink. Babysitting Roxy was as tiring as his real job. He’d never wanted one job but now he worked two. Roxy insisted on a lot of attention.

  He winced as he limped from the expensive love seat to stretch out on the black leather recliner facing the giant television screen. His day at the club had begun well. Two matrons had simpered and insisted he extend their tennis lessons. Neither seemed as interested in learning how to hold her racket for a good serve as in rubbing her backside against his groin.

  He smiled at the memory of Millicent Blanchard turning his professional interest into an invitation to have sex. If he hadn’t been so crazy about Sarah he would have taken her up on it. Old man Blanchard had married himself a barely thirty-something trophy wife with hot panties, more like a hot thong. Her tennis outfit had molded her D cup breasts and hidden very little of her firm ass-ets, especially when she bent over to pick up something she’d dropped, which she did often.