The Hummingbird Heart

by A. G. Howard

  “Lovely dress,” Julian said, trying to be cordial.

  “Thank you. I bought it at the Ladies’ Mile in New York. And do not worry. The other girls and I don’t intend to spend all of the money from the latchets on apparel.” She grinned. “In fact, we have found an apartment to let in London, until we can acquire some acreage whereupon to build a home.”

  “Congratulations.” He tried to frame his next words carefully. “Did you not read the invitation? It is to be a casual affair today.”

  “Oh, I intend to change.” She blushed, the tiny bump of cartilage on her nose darkening to a deeper red than her cheeks. “I just returned from seeing your sister’s butterfly conservatory. She insisted we dress thus, in the case we were to meet any of your eligible guests on our tour.”

  “Ah.” Julian smoothed his braided hair and dropped his hat on his head. “Always thinking ahead, that one.”

  Katherine’s breath whistled in the resulting uncomfortable silence, and her gaze swept Julian’s hiding place. “Do you come here often?”

  The jitters in Julian’s stomach renewed with all the force of a hornet’s nest. “What say we cut to the chase, aye?”

  Her gold eyes glistened. Smirking, she delved into the pocket-bag tied about her waist. She handed him a satiny handkerchief. “I hope it meets your expectations.”

  Eagerly, Julian unwrapped the slick fabric, revealing the mother-of-pearl pin-watch Uncle Owen had given Willow upon her first trip to Ridley’s—her good luck charm. “Hello, old friend.” His smile deepened as he turned it over to see the inscription on the back. He met Katherine’s gaze. “Perfect. When I received your missive telling me you’d found this…” He lifted it, watching the metal cast flashes of light on a cluster of magnolias behind Katherine. “I couldn’t believe it. After all these months. I thought it was lost forever.”

  “I apologize that it took so long to find. When we’d checked into our hotel, before the theft was to take place, Louisa had taken a box of things to have sent back home, with instructions for our maid to put them in storage.” Katherine’s countenance darkened. “When we took Louisa’s body to Italy to be buried, the maid gave me the box. It took me months before I was ready to look through her things. But when I did”— her face brightened with a smile—“there was the pin-watch, wrapped within a handkerchief. Louisa lied when she told Willow it would be waiting by the riverbank. For once, her deceit proved a blessing. Otherwise, it would have been washed away in that storm.”

  Julian nodded, still mesmerized by the reflections of light dancing from the silver metal to the white flowers in the background. He rewrapped the watch within the handkerchief and tucked it in his trouser pocket. “What you did for Willow … helping her steal the shoes … helping her smuggle them onto the fairgrounds that night. I never had the chance to thank you properly. You’ve proven yourself a true friend. I only hope you have no regrets.”

  Katherine glanced down, nudging a fallen magnolia with her shoe. A butterfly came to light on her toe and she stilled, letting it flap its wings in time with her whistling nose. “I believe everything happens for a reason, Master Thornton. If this was the only way for Willow to be reunited with her family … well, then it was all for the best.”

  The butterfly took to the air, fluttering like the nerves in Julian’s stomach. “Have you visited Willow and Sala?” he asked, his throat drying on the question.

  Katherine’s lips curved up on one side. “I have.”

  “And … how is she?”

  “Have you not seen her yet?”

  Julian shrugged, his linen shirt gaping open at the neck in the absence of a cravat. “I can’t face her. One look at her and … well, I fear I would ruin everything. I wrote her a note.”

  “Hmm.” Katherine glanced over her shoulder. “That in mind, I shouldn’t be here with you too long without a chaperone. Just think of the gossip your guests could contrive.”

  “Good point.” Julian escorted her through the opening. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Very soon.” As she strolled away, her voice had a teasing lilt which exacerbated Julian’s emotional unease.

  He settled once more beneath the tree, lowering his hat’s brim over his eyes to attempt a short nap before time to make his debut, knowing all along his mind would not allow it. Of late, his thoughts often spun out of control, fraught with worry, mainly for his brother. They had received a letter from Nick in January, announcing that his infant son had died during birth. Nick had never sounded so devastated and despondent. Since then, they’d lost all contact with him, with no word as to where he and his wife were living. This news had cast a dark cloud over all of the Thorntons. Julian hoped that within the next few weeks, he could offer something to help ameliorate some of that pain.

  His eyelids snapped open as a cold droplet plopped on his nose. He reached up, transferring it to his fingertip. The sticky, red goop brought a smile to his face. Raspberry ice.

  “Sharing your breakfast again?” He turned his gaze upward where Newton hung in the branches like a drowsing sloth and nibbled the icy treat—a habit his sister had wasted little time passing on to him.

  Upon slurping the last bite, Newton tossed down the metal cup and dropped to the ground with all the grace and confidence of an aerial virtuoso. His stained lips and teeth turned up in a goading sneer. He gestured in the direction of the amusement park.

  “They sent you to fetch me did they?” Julian grinned. “Perhaps they thought I was to make a run for it?”

  Newton snorted then shaped his fingers and hands into words. Julian’s mother had been teaching the boy to sign. At this point, everyone in the townhouse, even the servants, knew the basic signs so they could accommodate Newton’s needs. The only problem was, the boy tended to get ahead of himself in conversations, talking too fast.

  Julian reached out to stall Newton’s hands. “Say again?”

  The mouse formed the statement once more, his cherubic face stiff with concentration.

  “Oh-ho! You think she would catch me, do you? Ha! Surely you don’t think her faster.”

  Newton crossed his arms, smug.

  Julian laughed. “True enough. We both know she is. But she has been a bit slower of late. Perhaps I might beat her this once?”

  Newton’s eyes rolled.

  Julian sighed. “Right again. It’s emasculating, to say the least.” When he didn’t stand, Newton grunted and caught his sleeve’s cuff, tugging him. “Fine, fine.” Battling an erratic heartbeat, Julian stood and dusted himself off one last time, bending to retrieve his journal and pen. “Lead the way, Sir Importunate.”

  Julian and Newton strolled toward the trellised archway beneath the familiar swinging sign. He held Newton’s hand, more for his own comfort than the child’s. By now, Newton knew the grounds inside and out. The parapets flapped overhead in a honeysuckle breeze, a mere wash of sound beneath the myriad of conversations taking place amongst his guests: the elite of London, here at the opening of the summer season to partake in the special ceremony.

  Everything glistened with morning dew, contributing to the magical allure Julian had hoped to portray with the runners of gold crape and silver sarcenet he’d draped along the wrought iron fence. His father had contributed strands of lights from the star tower, and his mother added her own hat-maker’s touch: flower swags made of dried blossoms. The petals were tipped with silver paint and glitter. She brushed glue along the stems and leaves which, when coated with iridescent seed beads, looked as if they were kissed with frost. The final result was a glistening spectacle—winter captured within a setting of summer.

  Upon walking past the entrance, Newton broke free and ran toward The Looking Glass ride at the park’s farthest end. Julian wanted to run with him, but didn’t have the benefit of unbridled youth. Winding through the crowd to shake hands with the attendees, he wrestled another bout of nerves. It wasn’t so much about being the center of attention. It was about wanting to please her … to bring her even a
fraction of the happiness she’d always given him so effortlessly and without reserve. Only when he’d succeeded in that feat could he breathe again.

  All those months, while Willow had been at the hospital in Italy with Sala, Julian had nigh lost his mind missing her. The one thing that kept him grounded was planning and building her ride. Each time she came home with Newton for a visit, he would take her hand and lead them both to the site, allowing Willow a chance to view the newest advancements before requesting her input. Without fail, she offered suggestions that always trumped any of the workers’ decisions, and ultimately improved the final product.

  Julian had been determined for the undertaking to be their brainchild, something he and Willow shared in giving birth to. Practice, he hypothesized, for one day when they shared a real child of flesh and blood.

  The scent of grass and greenery piqued his senses, and Julian glanced about. He had made the required rounds, sufficiently milling through all of his guests. Looking past the Ferris wheel and the other rides, he winced from the glare in the mirrored façade of his premier ride. The gigantic pocket watch pendulated and a wooden white rabbit’s face winked atop the entrance tunnel where boats awaited boarding on the glistening water. Julian was to take the maiden voyage today. Pending any unforeseen bugs in the gearing, rides for all of the guests would commence thereafter.

  Newton stood in front of the mirrors, surrounded by family. He and Bristles were entertaining the others, using Sala’s and Uncle Owen’s wheelchairs as platforms for the squirrel to jump from one whicker handlebar to the other. Newton held out a twig and the white ball of fur turned flips over it between landings.

  Sala—paralyzed from the waist down due to spinal damage—had come to stay three months ago. It had been a fairly easy transition, since the manor already accommodated Uncle Owen’s wheelchair. They renovated the ramps and hired a personal nurse for Sala. True to his generous nature, Uncle Owen had accepted Willow’s newfound family into his own with open arms.

  Julian watched the men now—Willow’s two fathers—enjoying one another’s company as if they were old friends who had travelled all of the same paths. Perhaps they had to some extent; for both of them had loved and lived for the same little girl throughout different stages of her life.

  Emilia and Mother stood to one side with Father. On the other, Aunt Enya fussed over Leander’s newborn daughter snuggled in a blanket within her mother’s arms. They all looked up to see Bristles land expertly atop Newton’s head. Willow appeared from behind Leander’s tall frame and borrowed Newton’s stick, coaxing the squirrel to clamber up to her shoulder. She tapped his fuzzy head gently with the twig and he leaned as if bowing, winning a piece of apple from Newton’s fingertips. Everyone laughed and applauded.

  It looked as if Emilia had a hand in all of the women’s hairstyles today, for Willow wore the same flowers woven through her shoulder length locks as Miss Katherine had in hers. Only on Willow, the apricot petals paled to her radiant complexion.

  As though feeling Julian’s gaze, Willow glanced up to match his stare. Skittish tremors scattered in his gut. A sensual light shimmered behind her eyes, and he knew she’d read the note he’d left on her pillow after they’d made love just before dawn.

  Even now, after all this time, Julian’s heart still gave a tumble when he saw her. She’d given in to Aunt Enya and started wearing dresses of late: flowing, feminine, empire waist gowns in soft colors with hems of lace that came just to her ankle, though they had no crinolines or hoops to bind her. And she still refused to wear shoes on the manor during the warmer months, even on social occasions, much to Enya’s constant annoyance.

  Only a few feet from reaching his family, Julian came to a halt as Judge Arlington snagged his arm. “It is splendid lad!” His moustache wiggled in excitement. “In the pink of the mode, to be sure.”

  Julian patted his investor’s shoulder, smiling at the American’s attempt at the British slang. “I am glad you approve.”

  “And my family, they also approve.”

  Julian nodded to the judge’s elegant wife and strapping adolescent sons waiting beside the newly painted carousel. “Well, without yours and Sala’s contributions, it would never have come to fruition. Same for my sister’s butterfly conservatory. Thank you for forgiving my impertinence in St. Louis.”

  The judge chortled. “Couldn’t very well stay angry with you. After all, even that pantomime saw fit to forgive you after hearing yours and Miss Willow’s story.”

  Julian smiled at the memory. He was fortunate the actress had been such a romantic at heart, or he would no doubt be imprisoned in the states today.

  Once Sala had been rushed by buggy to the nearest hospital in St. Louis on that fateful night, Julian had been so worried Willow would leave with Newton and her father and stay forever in Italy, he’d asked her to marry him on the spot. She’d said yes—much to his relief—and since they could only manage an “exchange of consent” ceremony in such haste, he had sought out the judge at the Inside Inn to ask him to pull some strings and arrange a common license. The judge agreed, on the grounds he was allowed to officiate. Three days later, Judge Arlington accompanied Julian to the hospital and married them in the chapel. A chaplain, two nurses, Newton, and Leander—who had arrived in St. Louis to a letter informing him of where to find his family—had all stood as witnesses.

  Willow and Julian honeymooned for two weeks at the Inside Inn as Sala healed enough to travel. She didn’t comment on why a honeymoon should last so long, since solitude was rare between visits to the hospital, taking care of Newton, and Julian’s appointments with artists, inventors, and scientists that the judge had met at the World’s Fair, intriguing them with stories of Julian’s amusement park.

  Thankfully, Judge Arlington and Leander stepped in from time to time when Newton would allow them to take him from his sister’s side. In those cherished moments, Julian did just as he’d once promised: learned every precept and secret of his new bride’s beautiful body—until, with just a glance, a word, or a touch he could make her eyes shimmer, her voice plead, and her skin glow. Until they were no longer unmoored, but deeply anchored, two souls once lost at sea becoming one complete being, secure upon their own island paradise.

  Once Sala was strong enough to be transferred, Willow and Newton left with him for Italy alongside Sala’s girls. A few days later, Julian and Leander took another ship to London where Julian had been ever since, waiting like a man starving for each visit his new bride could spare.

  “Are you ready then?” Judge Arlington asked, shaking Julian back to the present.

  Julian nodded, wrestling the quivery twist in his chest. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Do you remember your lines?”

  “Of course.” The judge patted his rotund belly. “I’m not all gluttony and boon. I have a brain, you know.”

  “Right-ho.” Julian grinned and tipped his hat’s brim. “Round up our guests.”

  While the judge circulated the crowd, hedging everyone in the direction of the ride’s entrance, Julian returned his parents’ proud smiles. He saw Nick’s absence in the marked shadows behind their expressions, and relived that knife-slash to his heart … the phantom reminder of the amputated portion of his soul that he prayed would one day find its way back home.

  The sadness faded as Willow stepped up, drawing him aside.

  “It’s not the same without him, is it?” As always, she knew Julian’s thoughts. She placed his palm upon her burgeoning abdomen—a reminder of all the hope life had to offer. “But your brother will find us again. After he finds himself.” Her hand covered Julian’s, her hummingbird ring nudging the gold band upon his left hand. She stole his breath with a maternal smile. “Now, onto other matters. You have been avoiding me today,” she scolded, changing the subject with all the deftness of a politician.

  “Never.” Julian grinned. “Just … had a list of things to accomplish.”

  “Did you finish?”

  He gulped a knot from h
is throat. “I’ve one more left.”

  “Huh. I am astounded you made such progress with your spectacles missing as they are.” Her nose twitched, holding her lips from curling upward.

  “Ah. As to that…” His free hand lifted out his wired frames from his trouser pocket and he blew several blackish-brown crumbs off the lenses. “Fine hiding place—the coffee tin.”

  “Thank you. I thought it rather fitting. What with your fondness for wearing food.”

  Grinning, he settled the aromatic spectacles in place on his nose and pulled her closer for a hug, his left hand growing warm on her belly.

  Willow and he had been indulging in a new game of late, stealing things from one another and hiding them. Julian had suggested it, to appease Willow’s innate penchant for thievery while keeping her out of trouble. Not to mention, it kept their relationship exciting and fresh.

  “I must wonder … have you anything gone missing today?” he asked against her bared neck, pleased that she’d worn her shoulder-length hair in a chignon for him.

  She leaned back and narrowed her eyes at him. “My cameo choker, in fact.”

  “Intriguing. Wonder where that might’ve walked off to.” Before Willow could respond, a rolling shove from within her womb bubbled beneath his hand. “Ha! Did you feel that?”

  She laughed. “Of course I felt it, pollywompus. From both sides.” Her hand squeezed his and her face beamed. “I believe it to be his head.”

  Julian grinned back. “Or her posterior. Seems rather big for a babe’s cranium.”

  “Oh posh. Not if he’s to be a brilliant mechanist like his father.”

  “I rather imagine she will be a gifted acrobat like her mother and Uncle Newt. In which case, the plump posterior will help soften her falls.”

  Willow snorted. “Is that what this is for?” She gestured to her buttocks which, much like other parts or her body, had developed a more womanly cushion over the past few months.