Heart Murmurs (9 page)

****

After School

I finish hitching the buggy to Charlotte and Bronte. Bronte whinnies, shaking his black mane in protest.

They haven't drawn a carriage since… my mind ticks off the months.

A year or more? No wonder he's irritated. He's way out of practice.

When my heart took its last dramatic splutter, plummeting me from the top of the cheer pyramid into full-on illness, all my horse-related activities came to a halt.

I crawl up on the seat and flick the reins on their hindquarters.

A movement in my periphery shifts my attention.

The curtains flutter in the upstairs bedroom. My eyes flick up, but don't catch, what I know is my mother's clandestine stare. She's off today, which means she's making me mental with her hovering.

She's nervous. Doesn't want me doing this. Or anything else for that matter.

She's going to have to deal. This new heart has given me a second shot, and I'm diving into this life wringing whatever drops of joy it's willing to relent.

I snap the reins again and they pick up the pace. The clip-clop of their hooves and the low grind of the wheels against the pavement provide a rhythm for my heart, calming it.

I hear the whispers. They're humming and I try to ignore the tune.

The battlegrounds drift past on either side as the setting sun glares off the white war monuments.

I click my tongue. “Ha! Charlotte!”

Charlotte automatically trots, forcing Bronte to keep time. Farms whizz past, making me dizzy.

White fences, rolled bales of hay, and the bray of horses are so familiar, so comforting that, for a precious moment, I feel normal.

The school comes into view where the outdoor play practice is already underway.

Mr. Connelly spies the carriage and waves me forward.

I smile. The English teacher is so very chic; he'd look more at home on the streets of New York than Gettysburg.

He's different, too. Probably another reason I like him so much. And say yes to his pleas for help, despite wanting to just hide in my bedroom after school.

“Great! Just in time. Mia, I need you to instruct the leads on the horses' commands.” He smiles widely.

He treats me like any other student. Never cuts me slack, never looks at me with pity.

“Fine. Where do you want them?”

“Over here.” He gestures behind a massive, white tent.

I angle the carriage in the direction of his outstretched finger. The carriage turns the corner, and my stomach bottoms out like the downward pitch of a roller coaster.

Apple. And Steve. They are the leads?

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Ironic, I'm afraid.” I start at the voice and see Morgan on Beth's white mare, Pilot.

“What are you doing here?” I say, more hostilely than I intended.

He eyes the carriage. “I'll wager the same as you. Teaching these non-horse folk how to fake it.”

I grin and nod. I can't help it. “I'm amazed Connelly drew you out of your self-imposed exile.”

His eyes flare and dampen quickly. “Yes, I like him, despite myself. I had a wonderful horse back home. Had him since birth. He was perfectly trained, almost like I didn't need words or, or—”

His mouth snaps shut. I realize this is the most animated I've ever seen him, and the least surly. He realizes it too. And now he almost looks guilty.

For what? Being happy for two whole seconds?

“Morgan, Mia, this way.”

Connelly motions us over to the happy couple. I resist the urge to spit.

Apple's blue eyes widen on seeing me and a wicked grin splits her lips.

The she-jackal.

Steve fidgets uncomfortably; his eyes darting from me to Morgan to Apple and back.

Mr. Connelly points to the two of them. “Take it from the top. When you've finished, help Apple up into the carriage. Morgan and Mia will have a one-on-one with you two later, but since we have it, let's do the carriage scene.”

Connelly stalks away, oblivious to the powder keg he's ignited.

I walk to Charlotte, holding her reins to keep her still.

Katie, a freshman, walks over to me, brandishing a script. “So you can see where we'll need the horses and what days you'll have to be here.”

I nod and glance down at it. I hear Morgan dismount; feel his stare burning the side of my face.

“We're on page fifteen,” she prompts.

I flip it open and glance at the dialogue. My eyes zero in on the word ‘kiss'.

I grit my teeth. It's only a peck. And it's not like I honestly care where Steve puts his lips, anyway.

“Oh, Charles,” Apple says.

I roll my eyes, convinced her post-graduation destiny lies on a bad daytime soap.

She flashes me a meaningful glare and moves in for the kill.

Their lips meet. Steve attempts to break the kiss, to move on with the scene. But Apple's hands wrap in his hair, holding his face to hers.

Her mouth opens as she presses harder, willing him to obey.

Steve resists at first, but quickly melts under her unrelenting fire.

Connelly yells from his seat. “Cut!”

Nothing. Apple tilts her head, playing with Steve's hair, kissing him feverishly.

“Didn't I say, Ms. Jones, this was my concern, casting you two together?”Connelly's irritated. “I suggest you stick to the script, or you will be replaced.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I motion to Katie. She comes over quickly and I thrust Charlotte's reins in her hand.

“I need a drink. Could you hold her?”

“Sure, Mia.”

I stalk past them into the white tent and over to the refreshment table.

“Are you alright?”

I turn. Morgan's biting the side of his mouth, and his eyes are tight. “They really are dreadful. Both as actors and as people. The good news is — they're perfect for one another.”

I laugh. It feels a little bitter, but good. “Yes, you can say that again.”

I hand him a soda. “Tell me more about your horse.”

He smiles, matching my bittersweet expression. “He was—”

“Black with a white mane?”

Morgan's face drains and my hand flies to cover my mouth.

I saw it… in the vision before I kissed him. The words flew out of my mouth without my permission.

“How?” His fingers roughly grip my shoulders and his eyes pierce mine, searching. “How did you know that?”

I blush and feel vertigo threatening. “Am I right?”

He turns to go, stomping through the tent, back toward the horses. He throws me one last dark look over his shoulder before ducking out the exit.

Fantastic. Let the ignoring resume.

“Stupid,” I mutter and follow his path, preparing to suffer till the scene is over. And then I have to instruct the princess how to ride like a commoner.

****

Next day

I sigh, blocking out the fiasco of a half-hour spent with Apple. Luckily, Connelly supervised our encounter, so her barbs were just a whispered few when he wasn't watching.

I push her ugliness from my mind.

My fingers tremble, thinking of Morgan's note, surreptitiously slipped into my backpack. It merely said, ‘Please forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I'm sorry. I have a surprise. Meet me after school behind the barn.'

My heart is a wild bird fluttering in my chest. Is he beginning to feel as I do? That I might be more than a friend? I think of our kiss and my stomach pitches as if falling.

I walk as quickly as I can manage, still short of breath, but for once not caring.

I steal around the side of the barn and pause, squaring my shoulders. I suck in a breath and step around to the back.

He's waiting as promised, leaning with one leg propped against the silo. He turns and his face lights up on seeing me. “You made it. I'm so very glad.”

I reach him and swipe the hair from my face. A stray lock tumbles back.

His thick fingers reach up, tucking it behind my ear. Yearning fills my chest and overflows like water over a too-f dam. The whispers agree.

Sunlight glitters against his dark hair and I notice the natural highlights.

I clear my throat. “What's the surprise?”

He gestures to the small cart.

“The cart? The cart is the surprise?”

He laughs. “Don't be ridiculous. It's your carriage.”

“What are you talking about?” I eye it skeptically.

“I have something I want to show you… and if you walk too far…”

I nod. “Okay, I guess.” I climb on and cross my legs. I wave my hand playfully, “Carry on, boy.”

“Yes, milady.” He turns, picking up the cart handles, and it rumbles across the stones towards the wide horse-path in the woods.

Sunlight filters through the dense forest canopy, illuminating spots on the ground. Thick, lichen-covered stones and trees give this part of the forest an otherworldly feel. “Can I have a hint?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

I watch the muscles in his legs work and can't help staring at his calf; blackened and so much smaller than the other.

“Morgan…” I ask quietly. Something in my tone makes him turn and set down the cart.

“Yes?”

“Your leg? What happened to it?”

He sighs and kneels before me. “It's not that I don't want to tell you. The time just isn't right.” His blue eyes flick back and forth, reading my reaction.

“Well, when will be the right time?”

He shrugs. “I don't know.”

I huff, exasperated.

His fingers slide beneath my chin, forcing my gaze. “I believe it will come though. When I can tell you…”

“Everything?”

“I hope so.” He turns to pick up the handles, and I force the disappointment from my face.

I want him to kiss me again, and having him so close, only to leave, feels like denying parched lips a drink.

I clear my throat and search for courage. “Are you… some sort of English royalty in hiding? Like the witness protection program?”

He laughs loudly; it echoes through the quiet forest, bouncing off trees. “Erm, no. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I overheard you and Beth talking about a court.” I see his shoulders stiffen, but I plunge on. “And you have such strange diction and speech — like you're trying hard to sound like everyone else. But honestly, most of the time you fail miserably.”

He glances back, a grin spreading his mouth wide as irony parts his lips. “So, I'm not fitting in, then?” His eyes dance.

“Not very well, no.”

This personality change is striking. I'm reminded of the flashing vision which prompted our kiss. Of how light and happy his eyes were — as if he was someone else. Someone without all these mysterious burdens.

He shakes his head and laughs again as we reach a very small goat-path. It snakes between huge boulders, up an incline. I eye it warily.

He extends his hand.

“How?” I prompt. No way I'm going to manage that hill.

Morgan pulls me to stand. “Climb on.”

“Your back? Are you crazy?”

“Yes, but that's irrelevant. Just get on.”

He helps me to stand on the cart. My hands push down on his shoulders as my legs wrap around his waist. My body presses against his, and I hope he can't feel how quickly my breath is coming.

His back muscles tense and tighten as he carries me up the sloping trail. A light sheen of sweat appears on his neck. “I hope I'm worth all this effort.”

He turns his face toward mine. His lips are an inch away. He murmurs quietly, “You are worth much more than this, Mia.”

His cheek brushes mine and my breath intakes at the stubble. It catches, and I'm mesmerized as his hand strays to my leg. His chest heaves faster, matching mine. I feel it rise and fall.

He trips, stumbling on the path as he loses his footing.

I jam my eyes shut, preparing for the impact with the stones. He swings me around, so I'm on his front. He gently eases me down on the path.

His lips crush mine, hard and fast. My hands wind into his thick curls and I push back. We kiss and lick in a heated, desperate dance. I bite his bottom lip and he laughs, low and throaty. “Mia,” he whispers, kissing me lightly, barely brushing my lips.

And he pulls back, pulling away.

I want to scream. Instead, I close my eyes, waiting for my breath to find my chest.

He lies beside me on the path. I open my eyes and glance over. His blue eyes stare at the forest ceiling. He's smiling slightly.

“I'm glad you're happy. I may just burn and turn to ashes over here.”

He smiles wider. “I'm. Happy.” A dark cloud breezes through his eyes. “I didn't think that was possible. Didn't think I deserved it.”

I sit up quickly, afraid his mood will sour. I stand. “C'mon you tease. I want my surprise.”

His eyes clear and I exhale. “Not much further.”

We wind to a cliff top, breaking out of the trees to overlook the wide expanse of a valley. I stop, eyes flitting across the panorama, trying to drink in everything at once. It's very high, and I step away from the edge as vertigo sways me.

White fences seem to grow from the waning fields: their rickety shapes cutting a real life map of boundaries and lands and family. All around the natural basin, small homes dot the landscape, miles away.

Boulders pile upon one another below and random sprigs of purple flowers sneak and bloom from between them. I smile. They're survivors.

That's what we are. Survivors.

“Wow,” is all I can manage.

Morgan's smile is playful. “Pfft. This isn't the surprise.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Thunder rumbles in the sky and echoes, reverberating through the valley. I shiver as black clouds roll across the blue like a heavenly bruise.

“Perfect. But we better hurry.”

Sunlight peeks from behind the storm clouds, shining against a cornucopia of blooming fall trees. Morgan takes my hand and leads me under an elderly blood-red maple; its woody, twisted arms and trunk jut up and out over the chasm.

“After you,” he motions to the tree.

“What?”

“Up you go.”

I now see newly nailed pieces of lumber crawling up the trunk in a ladder formation.

My heart leaps, but the whispers quiet, as if anticipating.

I climb the steps, one at a time, till I reach a dizzying height, and angle my body into a woody crook of the tree's outstretched arm.

I can see perfectly into the valley. I look up and spy newly pruned branches, shaping the limbs into a faux picture window, allowing a wide berth, so that all the fall foliage can be taken in. Yellows and greens and stark reds dot the countryside like a natural puzzle.

I sigh. It's breathtaking.

For me? He did all this for me?

Morgan arrives behind me — his smile so wide his eyes are almost closed from the squint. He pulls out a belt, wrapping it around my waist and the limb, like a seatbelt.

“For safety. The ride can get pretty bumpy.”

“It's magnificent. What ride?”

As if obeying his command, the sunlight dims and wind whips through the boughs. They shudder beneath me.

“We can't stay long, so keep this close Mia, close to your heart and your memory; pull it out on days that seem hopeless. Close your eyes.”

My patchwork heart beats hard and fast in fear. I close my eyes.

“Picture Charlotte. Beneath you. The feel of her barreling across the field.”

The trees sway and pitch in time with his words, and my muscles tense as I right myself; like I'm balancing in the saddle. A thunderclap erupts, and the vibration echoes through the valley, through me. Like hoof beats as they strike the ground.

Tears gather under my lids. But for the first time, they're tears of joy. It does feel like riding. How did he know? How did he find this? I don't want to open my eyes to spoil the illusion.

The only thing missing is the sound of her snort. And I hear it.

A snort.

My eyes fly open, searching for the sound. Morgan's expression has shifted. His eyes tick wildly, searching for something; his mouth is pressed into a straight, white line.

“This was amazing. Honestly, I don't know how you ever thought of it.” I touch his hand, gaining his attention. “Thank you isn't enough, but I mean it so much.”

His eyes burn with attraction and… love?

But they quickly shift back to search mode. “You're so very welcome. I imagined being forbidden to perform the desire of your heart, and immediately thought of this place.”

The bough is whipping madly in the wind as his fingers quickly unbuckle the belt. “Hurry now. These hills bear the brunt of the storm.”

Thunder cracks in agreement and lightning's jagged blue light flashes as if warning.

As our feet reach the ground, the skies open and the deluge pours down, instantly dousing us.

A snort echoes, not ten feet away.

Morgan's face drains of color. “We need to get back to Orchard House. Beth's expecting you.”