His Haunted Heart (2 page)

I’d never seen the beach, but I’d read about it.

An hour later, everything was ready and the table was set. Halfway through the meal, a question rose in my mind and in my critical situation, I didn’t know whether or not to broach the subject or keep my mouth shut until the vows were exchanged. My father seemed to acknowledge the oncoming question and pointed his knife in my direction, effectively slicing the question from my tongue before it had a chance to coalesce.

I glanced at the stranger, now my betrothed, to see if he could detect the family strife beneath the clanking of forks and knives. What I didn’t expect, when my eyes met his, was the concern written on his pristine, un-marred face.

“You don’t eat much,” he regarded with a nod to my plate.

“Usually she gorges like a cow,” my mother snapped, her cheeks puffed full of her own ball of cud. When she spoke, her eyes never left her plate, concerned that some of her chicken would vanish if she didn’t offer it constant worship.

“Yet, you remain a slip of a thing. Strange.” He spoke directly to me, ignoring the false jab.

Pooching my lips together, I defied the rising smile. Already he could see right through my mother’s antics. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as I’d assumed.

There must’ve been some secret deformity if he’d chosen me.

The rest of the meal went off without a hitch and before I knew it I was already feeling as if I’d left this place yet was no closer to knowing where I was going or who I was going with.

I only owned three skirts, three shirts with ragged corsets and various other garments including two sweaters, more like glorified rags—and one dress left behind by Adele. I didn’t even own a coat and my only pair of shoes was a worn-thin pair of lace up boots that had been thrown to the garbage bin by a woman I washed clothes for.

~~

“You’ve got everything?” My mother barged into my room at the break of day, and seemed to have a genuine concern though I could see right through it. I’d been up since dawn, staring out the window, letting the promise and curse of my future flit through my mind.

I nodded to my suitcase. “It’s all in here.”

During the night, I’d wondered if I would be provided a wedding dress like the other girls, or maybe even just a clean, patch-free dress. It was less of a question and more of an unrequited hope. None of those things ever came. When the sun broke through my window, giving up on the prospect, I dressed in my plum-colored dress with a black fitted coat on top, my best, and ruined the little beauty the ensemble contained coupling it with my failing boots. I’d tangled my hair into a loose braid so that it hung over my left shoulder, masking the part of me he’d regret being wed to.

The man had already seen my face, this outfit would probably serve as a welcomed distraction as it showed a great deal of the upper swell of my breasts. Even my threadbare jacket couldn’t contain them.

“You can’t take your blankets and things. Those will be needed for the boarders.”

Less than twelve hours and my parents had already arranged to have my absence serve as a steady income. It was no surprise. People were always in and out of town and most families had at least one room that served as extra income. It was a small town, more like a village and newcomers didn’t stay long, either pushed out or turned off.

“That’s fine, Mother. I’m sure they’ve got blankets.”

“Well, you best get to the church. Do everything he asks, Delilah. You don’t want to be sent to the Plots.”

My mother’s best threat, other than her stinging backhand, was that I’d be destined to go to the Plots.

The Plots were the whore houses on the outskirts of our village and if you were thrown out of your home, other than the poverty stricken lifestyle of the laundry washers and maids, prostitution was the profession that chose you. Either that or a slow death due to starvation.

Though sometimes I wondered how much worse selling yourself could be in comparison to being hated by your own family.

From her clipped tone and the finality in her words, I assumed they wouldn’t be present at my wedding. Though unshed tears stung the corners of my eyes at the thought, I knew it was better this way. There were no feelings between us other than obligation and I was no longer their responsibility. Even so, remorse for a better set of parents washed through me, wishing they were at least interested in seeing me married.

With a cold nod, I grabbed my suitcase—which was, if possible, more worn than my boots and made my way downstairs. My father was at work, so no goodbye was necessary. Still, I turned one last time and took in everything I wouldn’t miss—the rat infested cupboards, the dingy rugs, and the scratch on the wall where the knife had sliced after it was done with my face and my back.

A slammed door behind me was my official goodbye.

The walk through town was almost embarrassing. By now, word of my marriage to-be had gotten around. Waiting until my age of twenty-three was unheard of in this place. Women in their fine attire whispered to each other in couples. Owners of stores walked outside and crossed their arms over their chests.

I hung my head low and kept my eyes on the ground as the bells of the chapel beckoned me to the call. There was no point in looking around anymore. The buildings and windows of the town were wrapped in a film of amber dust that seemed to reproduce from thin air. It was as though the Lord had drawn in a great breath and instead of releasing the blowing wind, blew a blast of rusty dust everywhere. It clung to my lungs and provided a canvas for the children in the street to draw in.

Finally, I reached the church. A blast of warm air washed over my face when I opened the chapel doors. Our town chapel was as dirty as the rest of the town and in terms of the condition of souls, maybe even filthier. The air felt good on my chapped cheeks and on the frigid tips of my ears. The pews were empty and the smell of beeswax burning candles filled my nose.

“You made it Delilah.” Surprise blanketed his face as though I was the one in this equation who was the unknown. The man liked to say my name, and I couldn’t deny the buzzing warmth in my belly when he did. No one had ever said my name with such emotion behind it. But in less than a day, how could any emotion back up my name on his tongue? “Where are your parents?”

“They’re not coming. I’m sorry…” I gestured toward my dress while he strode toward me down the middle aisle. There was a purpose in his steps and a stir in his eyes that I did not recognize.

“You look beautiful. All this black hair…” He pulled at the ends of my braid and cleared his throat. “Let’s get this over with.”

At least the consensus on this marriage was unanimous—everyone wanted the deed done in a rush.

A flash of emotion crossed his features as he spoke of my hair, but when I’d gasped, it all whooshed out of the room taking his smoky gaze with it. I thanked the Lord for that moment of clarity. I understood what I was up against. Hot and cold was certainly better than raging hate. I nodded and answered, “Yes, please.”

The local Constable and his wife stood as witnesses while the priest read his stiff vows for us to repeat, preferably with some emotion. Neither I, nor my fiancé, were able to summon such things. No blame for it would be put on my betrothed’s hands, since anyone in their right mind couldn’t be all that much in adoration at the thought of pledging their life to be spent with a roughed up creature like me.

I tugged at my dress, uncomfortable standing opposite this finely dressed man, holding my hands, making promises neither he nor I knew whether or not we could keep. Even the Constable’s wife seemed enamored with him. Her eyes flicked to his form more than once during the ceremony.

“Porter Quentin Jeansonne do you take Delilah Catherine Sharp to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Porter. His name was Porter. The first thing I’d learned about my new husband was his name.

No matter what his name was, he was my savior.

He was also a good bit older than me. His date of birth was scribbled on the certificate—he was twenty-three to my twenty.

He must’ve been as desperate to marry as my parents were to get rid of me.

The rest of the ceremony was more of the same icy procedure, signing forms and curt nods of the head.

It was when the priest said, ‘Go, enjoy your marriage and be fruitful’ that the weight of what had occurred that morning settled like a brick in the pit of my stomach.

There would be expectations and the fear of them gurgled into my throat and down to my toes, anchoring in place. Porter must’ve seen the damned things grow into concrete blocks because he took my hand and with a swift pull, bid me follow him.

On our way to the exit, I bent to retrieve my suitcase but I was beat to it by my new husband. “Let me.”

He offered me his arm. I’d never been offered the arm of a gentleman in my life. Even in my younger days, the rumors my sisters spread about me were so foul that no one dared come into my presence, much less offer me a kindness.

My first kiss had been a taken one behind the school building—he must’ve been dared.

No one in their right mind would kiss someone like me.

“Thank you, Sir.” No correction was made, in my address, so I assumed that was how he preferred me answer him. He nodded once then gestured toward a black horse with cinnamon tipped ears that seemed just as happy to have me on him as I was at the prospect of riding the beast. “We are to ride that?”

A black gloved hand covered his mouth and a laugh, but the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes could not be covered. He was laughing at me.

“He is a gentle one. Don’t be afraid. You didn’t strike me as a female who is easily frightened and you still don’t.”

“Is that why you chose me?”

My question caused him to grow rigid in gait and look around the town as if to check if anyone was listening. They all were. Nothing could be done in our town without it being a community affair. Hunching my shoulders in regret, I punished myself for my unwarranted words by biting into my bottom lip as hard as I could. The metallic taste told me I’d done well.

“We will talk later.”

My suitcase was hoisted onto the side of the saddle and fastened in place with a rope. Porter—I would call him that in my mind if nothing else—with one foot in a stirrup, mounted the monster and with an outstretched hand, asked me to follow his lead. I did so without an ounce of grace, and before I could settle myself in, we were in a full gallop, to where, I had no idea.

Chapter Two

Porter

The entire way home, time after time, I checked if she was still behind me, her willowy body barely hanging on. I feared the wind would sweep her away from me. We crossed the last bridge before the final road that led to my home and I patted the outside of my new bride’s thigh, checking once more that she was still with me.

“I’m here,” she assured me with her small voice. It was the first time she’d spoken on the journey. I’d expected questions and observations about every little thing since I lived on the outskirts of The Rogue and within the denser, more darkened part of the swamps—places most people never went. I’d assumed she had never visited these parts, so her silence concerned me.

I filled the time with recurring visions of her home and the first time I’d seen her. The issues her parents thought themselves clever in hiding, I’d seen clear as day. Their rotund bellies compared to her sunken cheeks spoke volumes. The compounded soot along the edges of their tired fireplace told a story of a matriarch that took no pride in her home, yet claimed she’d taught her daughter how to be a good wife. The only lessons Delilah had been taught were fear and self-loathing. The fact was apparent in the way she held herself, her hesitance to look me in the eyes, and mostly in the reluctance I felt in the way she refused to hold me properly as we rode.

There were crimes committed against the small creature at my back that I may never be able to undo.

She’d called me Sir. I would correct her later, away from the intruding eyes of the townsfolk.

It would be better for her that way, for the townspeople to perceive our marriage as a chaste decision made by two people, both past the normal marrying age—me more so than her. I wondered if I should keep it from her, the pretensions of our relationship.

I couldn’t imagine a right place or time for that conversation, but if she asked, I would be obliged to tell her the truth.

Meandering thoughts flitted through my mind, filling the space between the bridge and the estate.

Finally, we were home and I didn’t know who was more nervous, me or Delilah.

Judging by her wringing fingers, I guessed it was her.

My home, a darkened shadow of a mansion, came more and more into focus as I turned onto the gravel road. The sun was pitched in the clouds, welcoming us, providing a light that burst through the tiny spaces between clumps of Spanish moss and provided wind chimes made of rays that hung from the branches. As we drew closer, the curtains in several windows of the house moved with their masters’ fingers, spying on the gift I’d brought home.

A gasp reminded me that I hadn’t said a word to her, matching her silence to me. “This is Jeansonne Manor. This is our home.”

Wiry fingers tightened on my shirt where it was tucked into my trousers. She was frightened. I didn’t blame her. There was a looming air about my childhood home that worked to our advantage, keeping the nosey away and holding its tenants tight. The past cast its darkness over our home a long time ago and burrowed the goodness down under its wings for none to find—none except those who sought it.

“It’s so beautiful,” Delilah murmured against my back. The warmth of her whisper permeated my jacket and shivered down my spine. I hadn’t expected this initial reaction to her presence. I didn’t know what I expected.

I barely remembered to answer her.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“There are other people.” Her statement was intonated like a question and I thought I heard relief in her voice.

“Yes, my mother is here, but she will move into the guest house today or tomorrow. There is a chef, a maid, and a stable boy.”

A few minutes passed and I stopped Benjamin, my horse, with a slow pull of the reins. I jumped off of the horse and before I could offer assistance, Delilah had hopped down and was stretching from side to side. Her eyebrows were bunched at the bridge of her nose.

“Are you in pain?” I stepped toward her while speaking.

“It was a long ride. I’m not used to riding a horse.”

“You can stretch your legs while I give you a tour of the house—our house.” She seemed to beam at the prospect and I took advantage of it, grabbing her cold, delicate hand in my own. There was an absence to my wife’s hand. “Also, I have your ring upstairs in the bedroom, please remind me if I forget. It is too valuable to me to travel with, so I left it here.”

She lifted her face to look me in the eyes. The spreading warmth in my chest made me feel like I’d been waiting my whole life to have her look at me. There, under the overcast of a knuckled oak tree, one of her eyes shown a tint lighter than the other.

The sun shifted above us. It was then that I really saw that glinting silver line down her face. She’d tried to cover it with her hair, but I knew it was there. It was almost perfect in its imperfection. As if it needed to be there to remind me that she was human and not ethereal. It brought her back down to Earth, but did nothing to detract from her angelic beauty.

“Who hurt you?” I whispered two of my fingers along the mark, hoping that my concern seeped through in my words. I was sure it didn’t. I was known more for my callousness than my charm.

She shrunk back at my words, shifting her eyes to the ground, but didn’t shy from my touch.

“Not yet.” Her sweet breath touched my face as she covered my fingers with her hand, keeping me there.

“Everything in time. I understand. Come on. They’ve been waiting a long time for me to bring home a bride.”

Her nose crinkled at my words, but she didn’t pull away when I enfolded her hand into my arm. Delilah was devilish yet innocent in that dress that showed me just enough to fill my mind with temptation beyond anything I’d ever experienced. We approached the house and just before we reached the door, my mother Eliza, came out, her smile showing the excitement I’d tamed, barely.

My mother’s guilt over what was once my almost-marriage to Marie nearly equaled mine. She shouldn’t have to bear any of it. It was all my doing. I’d tried to love Marie—I had.

By the time I’d given up on the notion, she had too.

“Mother, this is Delilah. Delilah, this is my mother, Eliza.”

My new bride bowed her head in respect. It was a formal gesture from The Rogue, but the tradition had been lost a long time ago.

“It’s so very nice to meet you, Mrs. Jeansonne.”

My mother waved her hand in disgust of such formality. “It will be Eliza, my new daughter. You are most welcome here. Come and have tea with me after Porter gives you the tour of the house. You’re a flit of a thing, you must be hungry. But my goodness, you are a beauty.”

Delilah ignored the compliment. “Only if you have something prepared. I ate plenty last night.”

My mother looked astonished. The pleasantly plump woman was probably already working on her third meal of the day. “This is your home now, Delilah. Eat when you wish and eat your fill. Porter is an excellent businessman and we can afford to eat well as you can see.” Mother patted her belly with pride. I gauged my new wife’s response to my mother’s announcement of my wealth, but if she was impressed or disgusted, no one would be able to tell.

“Thank you. I’d like to wash up a bit after the tour and then I will join you.”

“Good. I’ll put the kettle on. Porter, show the girl around her new home.”

Delilah’s hand had fisted the fabric of my jacket while I made her introduction. A touch of pride stung me, relieved that at the very least I could be someone for her to hold onto. Looking down on her, her head barely coming up to my chin, I noticed her marked shiver. Already I was making a poor showing as a husband.

“Mother,” I called out before the over-exuberant woman got too far.

“Yes?”

“A change of plan. My wife is freezing and probably hungrier than she’s letting on. I doubt she was given anything more than scraps at her home. I’m going to settle her in front of the fire in the main living room. Bring her food and tea there, please.”

I saw the protest building in Delilah’s eyes, but I put a swift stop to it by bending a bit and whispering in her ear. “Let me take care of my wife. I’m learning here, Mrs. Jeansonne. You wouldn’t begrudge me that, would you?”

She shook her head no with a blaring blush and I chuckled. I’d thought she’d put up a fight. Her stomach was probably overriding the notion.

I led her through the hallway and into the main parlor. I placed her in my chair at the side of the fireplace and reached for a blanket, one that my mother had knitted along with most of the blankets in our home. As I draped it over her thin legs, I took inventory of her physical needs. She was in desperate need of another pair of boots. Her sweater was way too thin to ever protect her from the elements. I should’ve noticed that before bringing her home by horse, but nothing could be done to remedy that error. The mistake wouldn’t be repeated. I wasn’t used to looking after anyone other than myself. My mother and the other people in the house each managed their own way.

“This is too much.” She rebelled and refused to look at me again, making a feeble attempt to get up. I nixed the motion with my hand on her knee.

“Consider it making up for lost time,” I said, kneeling beside the chair and, tucking the blanket around her. “Are you warming up?”

“I am. Thank you, Sir.”

“I am Porter to you. You are my wife, not my employee.”

A slight bite of her lip and I was caught in her snare—a snare I doubted she even knew she’d set.

“I’ve got bread, cheese, fresh fried ham, and cake. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

I laughed at my mother’s candor. The tray contained more food than Delilah had probably ever seen at one sitting. She’d have the poor girl stuffed to the brim in less than a week.

“We will leave you to rest a bit now, won’t we Port?”

Hesitation stilled me. I didn’t want to leave her yet. Fear trickled down into my gut, telling me that she would leave, no prospects or not, simply to get away from this place and the grunt she’d been made to marry. I supposed smothering her less than a day after we’d been married would equally cause her to flee, so I took my leave, but not without reluctance.

Instead of checking in on her, minute by minute, I went to the office, in the back of the house, and buried myself in paperwork. My business, unbeknownst to anyone in the town, was with people in the world outside The Rogue. There was no money to be made in the town. There were only so many butcher, bakers, and sin-house makers one population could handle.

I sat at my desk and though there was plenty to do, my thoughts drifted back to her.

I wasn’t naïve. This was no regular marriage. Delilah wasn’t swept off her feet by my undying love and persistent ploys to win her affections. Her father had been all but selling her on the streets of The Rogue. Initially, I’d felt sorry for whoever the chit was, but when I saw her face, it was no longer a case of charity, but a case of compulsion.

I had to know her.

I needed to know her.

Only a half an hour passed before I heard a voice. “Am I interrupting?”

Shocked at anyone in my office, I jumped, throwing papers every which way. She rushed into the office, apologizing and picking it all up before I could even recuperate from my start.

“It’s fine. Leave them. No one ever comes into my office. You scared me.”

Delilah’s face paled past alabaster and crossed into downright ghostly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave.”

My hand snapped out, grabbing her wrist to stop her from fleeing. “I meant no one has ever come into my office. You are welcome wherever I am.”

Half of a day and I’d turned into a sap.

“I finished with the meal and returned the tray to the kitchen. They wouldn’t let me help clean—your mother and June. They said you were in the office.”

“I owe you a tour, don’t I?” Changing the conversation instantly calmed her. She sat back on her haunches and crossed her arms over her chest. The gesture was surely defensive. “You must need to unpack your things.”

She glanced out of the window, acknowledging the passing of time. “I should do that before tonight.”

A blush flourished across her cheeks and flooded her neck. My thoughts were in the same line of thought as her blush, but I knew, again, this was no ordinary marriage.

“I will show you the bedroom and maybe you’d enjoy a hot bath. My mother claims a hot bath can cure all ailments. There are some things I had brought in for you.”

Her eyebrows bunched in confusion. “We just met last night.”

“I’d spoken to your father last week, Delilah. It was merely a choice of asking for your hand in person. He insisted that I meet you before I’d decided anything.”

The revelation didn’t pain her as much as I’d anticipated. When I’d spoken the words, I thought for sure I’d erred again. At least she didn’t know that I’d practically paid for her.

“Oh, I see. He’s been trying to pawn me off on someone for years. I bet you feel like a sucker right now, don’t you?”

“Actually, it feels like winning. Let me show you our bedroom.”