The Blackened Soul

by Candace Osmond

  And the very thought turned my guts.

  I found myself trying to imagine what Henry thought of it all. Was I hanging on to a doomed relationship? Would Henry eventually leave me in order to distance himself from everything that reminded him of her? My hand lovingly rubbed across my belly, silently cooing to the baby inside. Then another horrible thought flashed through my mind and my stomach rolled over. I’d been dreaming of the baby coming out with a full head of blonde curls and dark brown eyes.

  But what if it looked like me?

  What if our child joined me in the Cobham traits of dark curls and tanned skin? What if he or she added to the torment that Henry faced every day when he looked at me? The very thought of the man I loved rejecting our child made me want to vomit.

  My lungs gasped for air as I fought back tears and sprinted across the deck toward my quarters. I barged through the door and slammed it closed behind me before my back slid down the wall where I pooled on the floor.

  “Jesus, Dianna!” Henry exclaimed and ran to me.

  Startled by his presence, I yelped and scrambled to wipe away my tears. “Oh, I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “You needn’t be sorry,” he told me sternly and bent down to scoop me up off the floor. I couldn’t look him in the face as his hands wiped at mine. “Why are you crying? Is the baby alright?”

  I sniffled at the wetness in my nose. “Yes, the baby is fine.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I shook my head, fighting with the words. Too many words. Too many questions running through my mind. “Henry,” I began and wiped my leaky nose with the back of my hand. “D-do you still… love me?”

  Aghast, he pulled back. “Heavens, Dianna, why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Let me rephrase,” I told him and finally met his eyes. “Can you still love me?”

  His brow furrowed in confusion and his mouth gaped, free of sound.

  “You won’t make love to me anymore,” I went on. “You won’t open up or let me help you.”

  Henry let his hands fall to my arms and grabbed them tightly as he pulled me toward him, crushing my body against his in a desperate hold. “You are my very reason for living. Everything I am ends with you.”

  He so rarely embraced me anymore and I let myself melt into him, nestling my face in his broad chest. “I just… I know you’re going through something, I know you’re dealing with your demons and I just… I worry about how much I look like one of them.”

  I felt his chest rise and fall with a deep breath as he took in my words. I felt bad for doing it, but it needed to be said. How could we possibly go on if the woman he loved looked like the woman he hated? Henry’s chin rested on the crown of my head and he held me so tightly as if it were the only thing holding him together.

  “Maria is a monster, Dianna. A plague cast upon the earth. She’s ugly inside and mirrors that monstrosity on the outside. I could never view her as beautiful in any way.” His words hurt me, cutting deep into my insecurities and multiplying them. “You may share her blood, but that is all.”

  Surprised at his turn of tone, I shifted my head and tilted my face upwards. Henry pulled away enough to peer down and meet my gaze. “To me, no one in the world could match your beauty, your strength. It radiates from you like some sort of magic. A spell you’ve cast over me.” His warm lips pressed against my forehead. “You’re nothing short of–” he shook his head and sighed, “I’m not sure. Some sort of being I’m certainly not worthy of.”

  I grabbed his face in my hands and held it tight. “But you are,” I insisted. “Don’t you see that? You deserve more than the life you’ve been given. And I want to spend the rest of mine making you happy. I came back for that. For us.” I felt the sobbing erupt from his chest and he nestled his face to my cheek. His walls were thinning, and I took the opportunity to break through. “We can be happy together, Henry. You just have to let me help you. You’d do the same for me, right?”

  The man’s arms wrapped around my body like an anxious vice as his tear stained lips found mine. I took him in, every touch, every scent. Whatever I could get.

  “I would lay my life down for you if it meant you’d never know pain or sorrow again,” he told me in a raspy whisper.

  I reached around and grabbed his hands, bringing them together with mine at my chest. Just above my heart. “Your pain is my pain.”

  “God, I’m so sorry,” Henry replied as he blinked away the tears. “It shall be over soon. I promise.”

  I swallowed hard. “Over… how?”

  “My demons will be put to rest. I swear to it. Whatever this is, this… darkness that haunts me at night, I’ll overcome it. I’ll be the man you need me to be. In time.”

  “But you don’t have to wait,” I told him. “You don’t have to put anything to rest.” His guilty eyes shot to mine and I hoped he knew that I’d caught on to his plan to kill my sister. “There’s another way.”

  “How?”

  “Just open up to me. Talk. Rid yourself of the of the darkness through words and allow yourself to heal. Let me share your pain.”

  Henry shook his head and backed away. “Jesus Christ, Dianna, I cannot burden you like that.”

  I could feel my face flush with anger. Whether from the pregnancy hormones or just at his stubbornness, I had no idea. But I used it.

  “I’m burdened, regardless, Henry!” I stalked after him as he made his way to the bed. “I deal with your pain from the outside every single day. I can see it through the window, but you won’t open the door and let me in. I can help. I promise.” He turned to face me, an incredulous look on his face and I sighed heavily. “You just have to let me. It’s as easy as that.”

  “I’m afraid–” He stopped short and turned away from me again, hiding his face in shame. I watched as the broad muscles of his back heaved with heavy breaths and I stepped closer to gently run my hand over it.

  “Afraid of what?” I asked.

  He remained silent, but I could sense that I still had him, he was still vulnerable, and I waited it out. I continued to lovingly massage his back and pressed my body against him, willing my warmth to soften his fears. Finally, he straightened and turned to face me.

  “I fear what you may think of me once you know,” he spoke, his voice hoarse from fighting back tears.

  “Know what?” I asked. “Henry, there’s nothing you could tell me that would change the way I feel about you.

  “You say that now.”

  “I’ll always say it.” Carefully, I stepped closer to the man, took his hand and held it to my face. “It doesn’t have to be this instant. You can talk about it when you’re ready. At your own pace. For now,” I leaned in and closed the short space between us and pressed my chest to his before reaching up on my toes to kiss his lips, twirling my fingers in his tousled blonde hair, “Just love me.”

  The broken man heaved a breath of defeat and I even caught the glimpse of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “That,” he spoke with the deep growl I loved and missed so much, “I can do.”

  I returned his grin and pulled at the drawstring of my shift, allowing the collar to loosen and hang low around my shoulders. “Then show me.”

  Trembling, Henry’s mouth came back to mine and I felt him let go of the stress held within his bones. His strong arms loosened up, able hands caressed body, and I felt my center warm from the excitement. We quickly became a twisted mess of desperation and passion, clawing at one another, removing the layers of our clothes until there was nothing more than two naked beings standing before one another in a heap of linens and leather.

  “God, I love you so much,” Henry told me as he stood and gazed at my nakedness. A few seconds seemed to be all he could stand. Massive hands grabbed at my thighs and hoisted me up where I eagerly wrapped my legs around his waist. He leaned back and sat on the bed, cradling me in his embrace.

  I couldn’t stop grinning. Finally, I was getting through. Bit by bit, I would get m
y Henry back. I threw my head back in ecstasy as his lips and scruffy face brushed across the naked skin of my breasts, sending goosebumps scouring down. Yes, I would get him back.

  And what better place to start?

  ***

  “What about naming it after your mother?” Henry asked as we lay in bed and his fingers twirled mindlessly in my curls.

  “Constance?” I replied, put off. “Nah, I don’t really care to continue the Cobham names, if I can help it.” My fingertips trailed along the pale skin of his chest, noting all the tiny scars left behind and admired how they glistened a pinkish silver in the sunlight. “What about your mother? What was her name?”

  Henry’s face softened at the memory and he smiled. “Audrey.”

  “That’s a beautiful name,” I told him. “It’s settled, then. If the baby is a girl, she’ll be Audrey.”

  The glorious man in my bed leaned in and took my mouth in his, an all-encompassing kiss that left me breathless. When he pulled away, I gasped for air and shifted closer to his naked body. “And if it’s a boy?”

  I shrugged, still reeling from the kiss. “Uh, what was your dad’s name?”

  Henry quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “Archibald. I’m not sure I wish to inflict that on my son.”

  I laughed and playfully pushed at his shoulder. “Why not? Archie. It’s cute.”

  “For a boy, perhaps. But he’ll become a man one day.” His lips then pursed in thought. “What about Arthur?”

  My heart skipped a beat at the name. One that I hadn’t heard in so long. “My dad?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “It’s a strong name. Fit for both a boy and a man. Your father seems to be lost in your life’s story. Why not keep his memory alive?”

  The sentiment touched my heart and I swallowed hard against the tightness that suddenly formed in my throat. After a moment’s thought, I nodded. “Well, then. Audrey for a girl. Arthur for a boy. I like those options.”

  “I as well.”

  I held his bushy face in my palm and thumbed the skin under his tired eyes. We remained there, bodies twisted together, as we held each other’s gaze and silently assured one another that everything was going to be alright. It had to be. We both knew it.

  “You need a shave,” I said.

  His hand reached up and rubbed his short blonde beard. “You don’t like it?”

  “Actually, I do,” I told him honestly and then laughed. “Much better than Finn’s. But I know you prefer cleanly shaven.”

  “That I do,” he replied. “But I quite like it. For now.”

  My lips widened. “Then so do I.”

  I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the window and saw that the sun was low in the sky. It was getting late. We’d stayed in bed most of the day and suppertime crept up on us. As much as I deeply desired to remain in bed with my pirate king, I couldn’t ignore my duties much longer. Someone would come looking for us soon.

  “We should probably get dressed and head out,” I suggested. “Before Finn and Gus come beating down the door.”

  I shifted towards the edge of the bed, but Henry’s hands grabbed my waist and swiftly hauled me on top of him. I could feel him growing with excitement beneath me and his hips drove upwards.

  “Let them,” he growled.

  I pushed at his naked chest and laughed as I attempted to remove myself from atop him. But he grabbed my arm and pulled back. I knew he was just being playful, so I tried to ignore the slight force he used and the protest my shoulder made at the tug. I remained in a half on-half off position and waited for him to let go. Everything would have been fine if he’d just let go. If he just didn’t hang on for that second too long.

  Henry’s face changed, shifting from happy to suddenly stunned shame and he released his grip from around my wrist. I tried to hide the way I held it to my chest as I got out of bed and reached for my clothes. But the skin stung. Should I have said something? Or would that cause him to retreat the short distance I’d help him travel on his road to recovery?

  I heard him behind me, rummaging through linens and shoving on his black pants. His footsteps closed in and stopped at my side. With great willpower, I met his eyes. His sorrowful eyes. The man plunked down in my red chair and slid his fingers in between mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, a barely audible whisper. “I-I don’t know what that was. I panicked at the thought of you leaving me. Even to get dressed.” His fingers dropped from my hand and I peered down as he leaned forward in the chair and wrung them through his long, blonde hair. “What’s wrong with me?”

  I finished tightening my leather belt and tucked in my white cotton shirt before squatting down in front of Henry and bringing my forehead to his. “Nothing we can’t fix,” I promised. “There’s going to be hiccups. There’s going to be fighting and emotions flying high. What you went through, not just recently, but ever since you met,” I swallowed hard, “her… it’s going to take some time.”

  Henry’s head raised up from his lap and he stared at me. He was always a hard man to read, the stone-cold expressions he often wore protected whatever thoughts ran through his mind. But in that moment, I read him like a picture book. He was scared. He was tired. And I knew the pirate was unsure whether he could overcome the darkness that haunted his dreams.

  “I promise,” I told him.

  His dark eyes stared at me unblinking. “At what cost?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  He was still unsure, I could tell. But Henry inhaled deeply and stood, taking my hand and helping me to my own feet at his side. A long, gentle kiss was placed on my forehead and he held me tight to him. “Let’s go eat.”

  He wasn’t retreating. A good sign. I held on to that thought and gave him a smile. “Yeah, let’s go eat.”

  ***

  Supper was something that Lottie called stone soup. As I prepared my rosemary buns for the oven, she told me a story of how the dish came to be. In small villages where people sometimes struggle to feed their families, each house would be tasked to bring one item to the center of town where a giant cauldron could be found boiling over an open fire. A potato here, a carrot there. And a stone for good measure. A giant pot of soup would be made, and everyone would be fed. I smiled at the tale as I placed the buns over the oven’s fire.

  “How’s the baby doing today?” Lottie asked me.

  “Good,” I told her and took a seat on a wooden stool. “It’s quiet most of the time, but I’m only just out of the first trimester. I should feel some kicking in the months to come.” My friend’s brow crinkled in confusion and I realized I was using modern terms again. Something they often got annoyed with. “Uh, first trimester. The first three months of a pregnancy.”

  Lottie nodded in understanding. “I sometimes forget you’re from the future, you know,” she admitted and came to sit next to me. “Then you speak such strange things and I’m quickly reminded.” Her hand patted my knee. “If I could lend you some words of caution, it would be to watch your tongue once we arrive at our destination.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Newfoundland is a more relaxed, smaller version of where we’re going,” she began, carefully choosing her terms. She pursed her lips in thought before proceeding. “It’s just… people scare easily. Anything new, anything different. Women have been hung for witchcraft for far less than a few words.”

  My stomach dropped at the realization of what my friend was trying to tell me. “I see.”

  “I just want to you be careful,” she replied. “Be safe.”

  Smiling, I accepted her intent. “I will.”

  Just then, the swinging kitchen door flung open and Finn barged in, sniffing the air. “When’s the grub goin’ to be ready?”

  Lottie stood and went to check the giant pot of steaming soup. “Soon.” She grabbed some bowls and handed them to the giant Scotsman. “Set the tables.”

  “Set the tables?” he balked and eyeballed the stack of bowls thrust into his hands. “What do I lo
ok like? A bloody servant girl?”

  Lottie stood with her hands on her hips, face unwavering. “You look like someone who has two hands. And if you want any of the food I’ve been slaving all day to make, then you’ll do as I say.”

  I tried to stifle a laugh as Finn and Lottie locked into a staring contest, one that he lost before it even began. I then watched as his bearded face wrinkled with a massive grin. “Aye, good thing I likes ye.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lucky me.”

  Finn exited through the swinging doors and I helped Lottie hoist the giant pot of soup onto a rolling cart that Gus had made for her. I often wondered when they’d just admit their feelings for one another and get on with it. He was always silently courting her.

  I remembered when he made the cart, a simple thing, really. I was roaming the decks one night, unable to sleep with Henry’s tossing and turning. He was on watch that night, but the water was calm and the sky clear. He was whittling the wheels out of scrap wood we had down in the hold.

  When I asked him what he was making, he responded with a short and final reply of ‘wheels’. The next morning, Lottie woke up to homemade wheels fashioned into a trolley with a shallow wooden crate on top. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, but she refused to talk about it.

  I watched their modest courtship from afar for too long. I felt like playing devil’s advocate today. Peering down at the wooden trolley and the steaming pot that sat in it, I said, “This thing sure is handy, hey?”

  Lottie stopped to grab a handful of spoons. “Yes, it certainly makes my job easier.”

  “That was nice of Gus to make it for you.” I caught a slight pause in her body and her gaze purposely avoided mine. “He really seems to like you. It’s been months. Do you not feel the same for him?”

  She huffed a hot breath of air and stood with her hands on her hips. “Yes, I quite like him. There. Is that enough? Now let it be.”