RafeHeroes at Heart

by Maryann Jordan

  “A dull throbbing,” he confessed.

  Standing, she said, “I’ll get our supper and another pain pill. We’ll turn in early and hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  As Eleanor’s voice moved away from him, Rafe hastened to say, “May I come with you? To the kitchen?”

  A few seconds of silence passed and he readied himself for rejection but, to his relief, she replied, “Sure.” He felt her take his hand and he stood, moving closer to her body.

  She moved to his other side, taking his arm instead of his hand. Retracing their steps, they made their way to the kitchen and she gently deposited him in a chair. “Originally, my grandparents did not have a table in the kitchen, only eating in the dining room. But, with it just being me here, I had a small table added. You can sit and keep me company while I perform culinary delights making soup and sandwiches.”

  Laughing, he said, “Don’t knock your culinary delights. Since I am completely at your mercy, a peanut butter sandwich would be a delight!”

  He heard her moving about the room, the sounds amplified without visual cues. The can opener. Pouring of liquid. The spoon scraping along the pot. The whoosh of the flame on the gas stove. The scent of tomatoes and cheese filling the air.

  Soon, he heard platters being set on the table in front of him, the warmth curling from the hot soup reaching his face. “Smells great,” he enthused honestly.

  “Here’s your spoon,” she said, placing the utensil in his hand. “The bowl is at twelve o’clock. The sandwich is on a small plate at ten o’clock, and your water is at two o’clock.”

  His brow knit, causing pain which he ignored, as he turned his head toward her voice. “I didn’t expect military lingo from you.”

  Silence ensued again and he was afraid she was not going to talk to him. About to apologize, he released a held breath when she spoke.

  “I suppose there are lots of things about me you don’t know.”

  Unable to see her face, he instinctively knew she did not want to discuss that topic. Dipping his spoon into the soup, he leaned over the bowl to taste the warm broth. “Man, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Well, I can open a can of soup with the best of them,” she quipped, sitting down at the table with her own bowl. “Just wait until you taste my sandwich. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to grilled cheese heaven.”

  Barking out a laugh, he reached over, finding it just where she indicated, and took a large bite. The buttery, toasted bread housing the melted cheddar was perfect, and he grinned. “Yep, heaven.”

  They ate in silence until the simple meal was finished. As he scraped the bowl with his spoon, he leaned back in his chair, hearing her still munching. When it sounded like she had finished, he asked, “Tell me about Bellamy House. I’d love to hear about this fascinating manor.”

  “Bellamy House? Really?”

  He heard the warmth in her words and knew he hit upon a favorite topic. “Yeah…I’d really like to know the history.”

  “Let me clear the dishes first and then I’d love to talk about my house.” As she stood and gathered their plates, he silently vowed to take care of whatever he could for her as soon as he was able to see again. He heard her rinse the dishes before placing them into the dishwasher.

  Eleanor washed the pot and pan, leaving them in the drying rack, thinking about how to describe her home to him. “The short version is that my great-grandfather built this house for his bride. But then, I can give you the long, wonderful version, if you like.”

  “Very much, please.”

  “For that, I suppose we should get comfortable.”

  “Lead the way, dear lady,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She walked over, her gaze on his outstretched hand and hesitated. His hand was strong. Long fingers. Short nails. It was beautiful. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she reached out her left hand and wrapped her fingers around his. The electricity in the house may have been out, but the zing she felt from his hand through hers could have lit the entire area.

  Rafe cocked his head to the side, the slight pressure of her hand in his causing his breath to quicken. He cursed not being able to see her face. Her hand was soft…and yet strong…sure. He remembered the piano playing and it all made sense. If the hand that was holding his now was the same one that created the soulful music, there had to be strength in it.

  “Come on,” she encouraged, sliding her body under his shoulder again, leading him out of the kitchen.

  “Back to the study?”

  “No, this time I think we’ll move to the library.”

  “That sounds impressive,” he admitted.

  “To be truthful, many of the rooms in this house are filled with books. My grandmother loved to read. There were bookshelves in the family room where we were earlier. My father’s study had his books, and my grandmother and mother loved the library.”

  She once more talked as she guided him down the hall, explaining what they were passing along the way. “The entry foyer is on your right, the front door in the center. The main staircase is also on your right, but I usually use the one near the back, where we were. The formal dining room is directly behind the foyer, to our left. The formal living room is straight ahead.”

  “And the library?”

  “Right here,” she said, gently guiding him toward the left. “It can be closed off or opened to make the formal living room larger. My parents rarely did that, but my grandfather would do so when they hosted a large event.”

  He tried to imagine Eleanor’s life, full of soirées, teas, dinner parties. Different from mine, that’s for sure.

  He knew as soon as they entered the larger room, her voice having a slightly different echo than in the large, tiled entry foyer. He felt soft carpets underneath his feet and the scent of old books filled the air. Inhaling deeply, he relished in the odor of old print, leather-bound books, and the rose from the woman next to him.

  It was impossible to ignore the way she was tucked in, offering support…while at the same time feeling distant. Cursing that the dignified lady had to assist him, he tried to move slightly away but immediately stumbled on the edge of a rug.

  “Careful,” she cried out, moving in closer. “Here’s the sofa. It’s comfortable also, although I prefer the one in the family room. It’s just that this room feels like the right place to begin the story.”

  Rafe settled back, sinking into the soft cushions. Hearing her sit close by, he smiled, longing to have her close. I haven’t seen her and I’m already getting attached. Turning his face toward her, even though his eyes could not see, he prodded, “So, this house. Tell me all.”

  15

  The room was quiet as Eleanor gathered her thoughts, the only sound coming from the grandfather clock against the wall.

  Rafe respectfully waited, hoping she did not regret agreeing to tell him about the house, now afraid that old wounds may surface. Opening his mouth to assure her they did not need to talk, she began.

  “My great-great grandfather immigrated, as a young man, from England in 1895. He was Richard Bellamy…younger son of a gentleman.” She chuckled, saying, “A poor gentleman, I should add. At that time, the industrial revolution had taken hold and the options for a younger son were much more open than in previous times. Before, either the clergy or military would have been his only true choice of occupation. But, he was fascinated with machines and had spent time in Bristol near the docks, learning shipping. The new steamships were making world trade explode at that time.”

  Hearing the enthusiasm in her voice, Rafe turned his body fully toward her, amazed that she could relate her family history back that far. Not knowing much about his own, he listened with fascinated interest.

  “He saw America as a place to expand his dreams so, with his family’s blessing, he came over, ready to start anew.”

  “He must have been very brave.”

  Laughing, she said, “I like to think that he was. Or maybe just desperate with th
e times. Anyway, he was smart, tenacious, hardworking and, from a letter written by his ladylove that ended up in the family Bible, we know he was very handsome.” A thought popped into her head and Eleanor stumbled with her words. That description suits Rafe as well.

  Clearing her throat, she continued, “Due to his father’s influence, he managed to secure a job with Tolsen’s Shipping in Philadelphia. Within ten years, he had worked up to a managing partner. He and Tolsen’s son, Carl, became business partners as well as best friends. And he met his wife, the beautiful Sonia Tolsen, Carl’s sister. She was the one who wrote the letter.”

  “It’s amazing that it was passed down through time.”

  “Believe it or not, my mother found the old Bible on a shelf in the library, hidden behind some other books.”

  His sense of hearing heightened, Rafe heard the excitement in her voice and smiled, wishing he could see her face. “Did Richard and Sonia build this house?”

  “Oh no, they continued to live and thrive in Philadelphia. But, their eldest son, Richard Bellamy, II, who was of course my great-grandfather, moved to Virginia to attend the College of William and Mary. He met his wife, Cynthia, who was the daughter of a rival shipping magnate, and he started the branch of Tolsen and Bellamy Shipping in Richmond.” Her voice became wistful as she added, “I would have loved to know more about their story. Can you imagine…their family as industrial rivals?”

  “Sounds like a Romeo and Juliet story,” he said, moving his hand to rest on the cushion between them, surprised when his fingers met hers. He felt her hand jerk, but she left it there, and he reveled in the simple touch. “So, what happened next?”

  “Times were good before the Great Depression and Richard, II, began work on Bellamy House, having purchased the land rather cheap years before. He wanted it out of the city and on a hill, overlooking the land. According to my grandfather, his father wanted to build a manor house for his wife, re-creating the type of large homes that he saw in England when they traveled back to visit relatives.

  “When he first started the building, the shipping industry was still doing fine, but then, when the Depression hit, money was tight and the house languished for several years.”

  “They didn’t get to live in it at all?” Rafe asked, getting into the story, leaning forward slightly.

  “He hired many local workers as contractors, but they were only able to complete part of it. His son, my grandfather, was born here in 1930.”

  “Another Richard?”

  Laughing, she said, “It’s kind of embarrassing, but yes, my grandfather was Richard, III. It sounds like the kings of England, doesn’t it?”

  He relaxed further into the cushions, stunned at the tone of her voice as she spoke of her family. Light, joyful, entertaining. He imagined her face, eyes bright as she told the stories to her children in years to come. He was not ashamed to admit, at least to himself, that he had done the math while she spoke and came to the conclusion that she must be around his age. Still, he felt a strange twitch in his chest at the thought of her with children. While his thoughts were swirling, she continued.

  “After several lean years, the business took off during and after World War II and the company once again made fortunes. My grandfather could not wait to bring his bride, Helena, here. He made sure it was a place that he was proud of, that it completed his father’s vision.”

  “So he finished building Bellamy House,” Rafe said, his attention still riveted with her tale.

  “Yes, Bellamy House became all that it is now because of my grandfather. He wanted to use the natural elements and, since it was built on a cliff overlooking the river, he used the dark, river stone from nearby. Of course, it gives the house an ominous appearance, as opposed to brick or granite that many more modern homes have. But, it was his vision.” With a slight giggle, she added, “I think he secretly harbored the desire to have a castle. All we need is a moat to be defensible.”

  “If it keeps raining, you just might have one,” Rafe quipped, loving the laughter coming from the other side of the sofa.

  “So, my father was raised in this house and when he married my mother, they lived here as well. My grandfather died early…lung cancer.” She sighed heavily, saying, “As so many people in that time, he was a smoker. It’s funny, because my grandmother hated the habit and would only allow pipes or cigars to be smoked in the house. She made him smoke his cigarettes outside. Of course, that did not deter him. I rarely saw him without a cigarette or cigar in his hand.”

  “But you have your memories,” he said gently, reaching his hand out toward her along the back of the sofa. He heard her shift around before placing her fingers near his. After a second, he realized he was touching her left hand, but her right hand would have been the closest. The thought flew out of his mind almost as soon as it entered as she continued her story.

  “I do have wonderful memories. I was raised in this house as well. The school bus would come to the end of the drive and I would hop on, excited to go to school but, at the end of the day, I loved walking up the drive even more, coming into the clearing and seeing the large, Gothic house that was home.”

  Questions filled his mind, but he stayed quiet. You were wealthy, but rode a school bus? You attended public school? She was so multi-faceted that he wondered if it would be possible to discover everything, but he knew he wanted to try. Her voice called to him and he desperately wanted to learn all he could.

  “And now?” he dared to ask, immediately contrite as he heard the slight intake of her breath.

  “I think that’s all for tonight,” she said, her voice pleasant, but firm. “It’s getting late and we should turn in.” Standing, she moved toward him, reaching down to take his arm, assisting him to his feet.

  He stood, immediately tucking her into his side, noticing her stiffen slightly before seeming to relax. As their feet left the plush carpet and were once more on solid marble tile, he grinned, claiming, “I know we’re back in the entry foyer.”

  “Very good, Rafe,” she encouraged. “We’re going to take the front staircase since it is the closest to us. I’ve already put your clean clothes in the bedroom that you’ll be using, but I also placed some pajamas in there as well. They’re clean, I assure you, but did belong to my father. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed, not wanting to shock her with the revelation that he never wore pajamas. His hand grasped the rail she guided him to and, taking the steps carefully, they ascended to the second floor. By the sheer number of steps, he knew the first floor of the house was quite tall. Finding carpet underneath his feet again, he allowed her to guide him down the long hall.

  “In the north wing, behind us, are three bedrooms, including one of the masters and two smaller ones. The same is on this side of the house as well. My grandparents had the master on the north side and my parents were in the one over here.”

  “Is that where you stay now?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized it was an impertinent question, but her quick response gave evidence that she was not offended.

  “No…actually, I use the room across the hall from when I was a child.” Laughing, she said, “That puts you in my old room, but don’t worry, it has been redecorated. No frilly, pink, princess curtains, nor the purple, punk theme I had as a teenager. Once I left home, I ordered my mother to redecorate it any way she wanted as long as it was welcoming.”

  Stopping at a door, she explained, “The master is here, taking up the front of the wing. You and I will be just down there, across from each other.”

  He heard the sound of a door opening and she moved him into the room. He was beginning to get used to the uncomfortable feeling of stumbling blindly into the dark, but hated the sensation.

  “Okay, here’s the layout,” she said. “With your back to the door, the windows are about fifteen feet ahead at twelve o’clock. They are actually French doors that open to a balcony, but it is locked now. The bed is at nine o’clock, the door
to the bathroom is at three o’clock. I have pushed the two chairs and settee to the far corner of the room so you won’t trip over them when you head to the bathroom. I’ve turned down the bed, but when you’re ready to turn in, please let me know so that I can make sure you’re in safely.”

  Unable to keep the grin off his face, he asked, “You gonna tuck me in?”

  “Yes, I think under the circumstances, that would be wise,” Eleanor laughed. Glancing toward the bathroom, she hesitated. “Uh…should I help with…uh…whatever…” She was glad he was unable to see the heat of a blush rising on her face.

  Rafe hesitated, the quick quip of not needing any help taking a shower halting in his throat. First, because the idea of her hands on him, now that he was well acquainted with her soft body, had him wishing that they were sharing a shower for pleasure and not necessity. But, secondly, he wondered if he would be able to handle it himself.

  Eleanor observed the play of emotions cross Rafe’s face…from smug to sexy to uncertain. Realizing this was difficult for him, she took his arm. “Come on, I’ll get the water going and then will just hang around out here while you shower and change.”

  Sighing, he dropped his chin to his chest and admitted, “I feel rather foolish.”

  “Don’t,” she said. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal.” She led him into the bathroom, calling out the location of the tub, shower, toilet, and sink. Leaving him standing next to the sink, she turned on the water in the shower, waiting just a moment until it was warm. Draping a towel over the top of the glass, she led him to the shower door. “Okay, I’ll be outside. When you’re finished, just use the towel up here and then when you step out, go to your right and you’re at the sink. Your pajamas are folded on the counter.”

  Reminding him not to get his cut wet, she backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a click. She was torn between the desire to run to her room to get away from thinking of him just on the other side of the door naked and wanting to make sure he was safe. He was really throwing her for a loop. Sliding into a chair next to the bathroom door, she hoped he was managing. And trying not to think of his naked body in the shower. Dropping her forehead to her hands, she wondered what she was doing. The swelling will go down and his eyes will be open. What then?