Twice Upon a Soul

by Deborah R Stigall

  Taylor sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the corner of the quilt, “She said she loved me…and that I had to let them let her go.” Her voice trembled with emotion as she whispered the words against his chest. “She’s going to be all right when her body dies, Chandler…she doesn’t need it anymore,” Taylor continued, realizing as she spoke the words that she really believed this. Instantly, she felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her chest.

  Stretching to reach his own cup of water, Chandler carefully pressed it to Taylor’s lips for a sip, “Well that sounds as though Mattie did you some good…but that doesn’t explain why you arrived here in such a state.” Returning the glass to the floor beside the pallets, Chandler placed his hand under Taylor’s chin, examining her tear-streaked face in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp. Her deep green eyes seemed fathomless and unreadable, her full red lips still trembling with emotion. Her usually immaculate honey colored hair was an exotic mane of curls; the tendrils surrounding her face and falling loosely down her back. His fingers itched to coil themselves in the rich silky depths….he longed to bury his face in the mass of gold. Chandler sighed deeply, trying to calm the stirring in his groin, mentally reprimanding himself to behave. The last thing Taylor needed right now was a battle for the continuing preservation of her virginity. He had to find out what else had happened to upset her.

  Taylor smiled tremulously, turning away from Chandler as she continued, “Mattie also did a rune casting…to predict my future.” At this, she paused, squeezing her eyes tightly shut at the memory of Mattie’s words.

  “Well?” Chandler asked, slowly turning Taylor back to face him. “So…what did she say about your future?”

  Taylor remained silent, opening her eyes to stare down at the corner of the quilt she was slowly twisting into a knot.

  Stilling Taylor’s hands with his own, Chandler gently repeated, “Taylor…what did she say?”

  Glancing forlornly up through her tear-lined lashes, Taylor tucked her chin to her chest as she answered, “The stones said our relationship…was…that it was ending and I would soon experience a big change in my life, maybe even meet someone else.”

  “And you believed this?” Chandler sputtered, struggling to control the level of his voice. “Look at me, Taylor…tell me…do you believe what she said?” he repeated, as Taylor kept her face turned away from him, concentrating on the bunched up quilt in her lap.

  “I don’t know,” she finally whispered softly, “You have to admit things haven’t been that great lately.” She glanced up from her lap into the pain-stricken face of the man sitting beside her.

  “We’re just having a few bumps because we can’t seem to move on to the next level in our relationship,” Chandler retorted with a snort. Grasping her shoulders tightly, he forced her to face him. “All couples go through that…once we’re married, everything will be just fine…you know that.” He searched Taylor’s face for a flicker of agreement, the emotions in his chest burning as she simply bit her lip and stared down to the pile of quilts.

  “Taylor…are you saying you don’t love me…that you want our relationship to end?” he finally asked quietly, afraid of the answer he really didn’t want to hear. She’d never agreed to marry him but then again, she’d never told him to get out of her life either; she’d simply kept him dangling in this damnedable state of limbo. He finally released her shoulders, letting his hands drop helplessly in his lap. Staring into her face, he silently waited for Taylor’s response.

  As Taylor looked into his strong gentle face, she didn’t have the heart to confess all the feelings of confusion and uneasiness that had been growing increasingly stronger over the past several months. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him…but then again, she really couldn’t say that she did love him. All she knew for certain was that she didn’t want things to change. She wanted him in her life, always there whenever she needed him…but she just wasn’t ready for marriage or having children. How could she explain that to him? Finally retreating from the truth, unable to handle the confrontation, Taylor laid a hand to Chandler’s stubbly cheek, “You know I love you…I-I’m sure Mattie must just have misinterpreted those silly rocks.”

  Exhaling in relief, Chandler gathered Taylor up into his arms, burying his face against her silky throat. “You had me worried there, Taylor…you should be ashamed of yourself,” he scolded in a whisper. Releasing her from his embrace but continuing to hold her in his arms, Chandler calmly inquired, “Now, finish telling me what’s got you so spooked.”

  “What a choice of words,” Taylor thought to herself, clearing her throat she chose her next words carefully, “Mattie bought a painting at the vendor’s fair today…a portrait of what looks to be a man from the past…of some sort of wealth…maybe from Scotland. I’m not sure.” Reaching past Chandler, she picked up his cup of water and took a few sips, frantically stalling for time. “Anyway…this man also appeared in the scrying mirror and spoke to me like Mama did.” Taylor stopped speaking, the memory of the vision, paralyzing her senses once again.

  Frowning, Chandler tilted his head to the side, then gently began tracing a finger along the veins in Taylor’s pale slender hand. He raised the delicate fingers to his lips, kissing her palm before he pressed it to his cheek. Trying to remain understanding, Chandler did his best to adopt a non-judgmental tone. “What did the man say to you, Taylor,” he asked quietly, once more gently urging her to continue.

  Her eyes widening in confusion, Taylor spoke as though mesmerized, "He knew my name…and said I must come to him.” She stared into Chandler’s face; her eyes growing even wider with renewed fear. “He followed me here…somehow…he was standing on the corner, Chandler…I saw him!” Covering her face with her hands, Taylor’s body shook with fear as she rocked to and fro among the quilts.

  Chandler eyed Taylor speculatively, remembering that he’d been able to see no one strange or unusual when Taylor first arrived. Completely at a loss for what to say, he chewed his lower lip worriedly, wondering what tonight was really about. It was so unlike her to be so irrational, so hysterical...especially about another one of Mattie’s latest excursions into the land of hocus-pocus. What had really triggered her half-crazed flight to his doorway? “Taylor…it’s so late…you’re so tired. Maybe you just thought you saw this man…you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, what with your Mom’s condition worsening,” he explained, calmly trying to reason Taylor’s fears away.

  “It was so real, Chandler…Mattie couldn’t have rigged it…it was real…you’ve got to believe me,” she whispered, shaking her head as she stared forlornly at her hands lying limply in her lap.

  Glancing toward the gradually lightening window, Chandler finally decided they were both growing too exhausted to further investigate the evening’s events. Any level of rationality or clarity would be impossible to achieve at this late hour. Maybe after she’d slept a bit, Taylor would be able to make a little more sense. “I believe anything you tell me, Taylor,’ he murmured in a soothing tone, trying to placate her senses and steer her clear of another attack of hysteria.

  Reclining onto the pallet, Chandler reached for Taylor’s arm, carefully pulling her body toward him. “Let’s get some rest before too much daylight is upon us…we’ll figure this whole thing out later, I promise.”

  Nodding in agreement through the fog of exhaustion and fear, Taylor crawled over the pallet to Chandler’s side. Curling up beside him in the nest of quilts and pillows, Taylor snuggled back against Chandler’s chest, struggling to block out the vision of the strange man that appeared every time she closed her eyes. As he curled his arm protectively around her and nuzzled his face against the back of her neck, Taylor finally relaxed and drifted off to sleep, hoping daylight would supply the answers to the questions the darkness had posed.

  ~*~

  Taylor squinted her eyes tightly shut as the bright sunlight poured across her face. A distant hammering had awakened her, along with the blinding li
ght shimmering in through the window. She struggled to disentangle herself from the quilts, peering blindly at her wrist in an attempt to read her watch. Moaning in disbelief at the lateness of the hour, Taylor stumbled from the pallet in search of the bathroom. Remembering Chandler’s explanation about the lack of electricity, she wondered if the plumbing was in the same condition or if Chandler had some other method of handling this most basic necessity.

  “Chandler!” she hoarsely called out in frustration. “Where are you?” The hammering immediately ceased, followed by the steady thump of someone skipping down the stairs.

  Landing on the main floor with a thud after jumping over the last two steps, Chandler swung into the kitchen in answer to Taylor’s call. “Hey! Sleepyhead…did you finally decide to get up?” he cheerily asked as he wiped the day’s sweat from his forehead.

  Glaring at him through her sleep encrusted eyes, Taylor contemplated throttling him on the spot, but decided if she did, she might never find out about the bathroom. “Chandler, have you got the bathroom running yet…or do I need to find a nearby gas station?” she muttered in a barely civil tone. She’d never been a morning person and physical discomfort did nothing to improve her frame of mind. Her head was throbbing from the effects of the wine and lack of sleep, her stomach gurgling and protesting against the prospect of too much movement. If she didn’t find the bathroom soon, her bladder was going to burst…permanently staining the brand new wood flooring that Chandler had yet to seal with a finish.

  “Well of course I’ve got the bathroom working…I told you that last week when I tried to get you to come over and see all of my latest renovations, remember?” he grinned, hands crossed over his chest as he watched her squirm with discomfort. “See? You should pay more attention to what I’m saying…you’d think we were already married!”

  “Just point me in the right direction, please,” she requested through gritted teeth. Maybe if she threw up on him, he’d be slightly less cheerful. Holding her head in both hands as his happy whistling ricocheted through her cranium, Taylor bit her lower lip to keep from cursing him to his face. Sullenly, she followed him up the broken staircase, sighing in relief when he finally steered her through the door of the bathroom.

  “Are you okay, Honey?” he gently asked, finally noticing the sickly tinge of white skin surrounding Taylor’s mouth. A sheen of sweat glistening across her forehead, her stomach churned as she slumped over the sink.

  “I’ll be fine…just give me a little time, I’ll find you when I’m finished,” she breathlessly replied, trying to dismiss him with the least amount of effort possible. When he remained in the doorway, she slowly turned to face him, hanging onto the crystal doorknob with a white-knuckled fist. “Everything works in here…right?” she gagged, hoping he’d take the hint as she began to close the door.

  “Uuh, yeah..right. I’ll just be on the other side of the house, putting up some drywall…Just sing out if you need me,” he instructed, backing out of the doorway into the hall. As Taylor slammed the bathroom door, Chandler backed across the hallway to lean against the wall. He grimaced as the sound of her miserable retching echoed throughout the empty house.

  Taylor crawled over to lean against the side of the bathtub, pressing her damp cheek against the cool porcelain in search of whatever comfort she could find. “This is crazy,” she whispered miserably to herself. “I can’t believe I let last night do this to me.”

  Turning, she propped her elbows against her knees, cradling her face in her hands. Last night’s visions returned to her mind, replaying vividly against the darkness of the palms of her hands. The imploring eyes, the self-assured smile…..the somehow familiar look of the dark Scotsman shimmering in the night air. Where had she seen that face before? Why did she get such a familiar stirring in the pit of her stomach….an aggravating gnawing in the back of her mind as she tried to put a finger on the elusive memory that seemed to be escaping her?

  Gently kneading her throbbing temples, Taylor frowned as her eyes alit upon the neatly embroidered towels hanging beside the sink. Perfectly scrolled in glossy blue embroidery, was her name across the hem of not only the hand towel but the bath towel as well. A matching set, with Chandler’s name neatly sewn in an identical shade was snuggled alongside them on the towel bar.

  As she glance around the bathroom, it was easy to see, that Chandler had designed and remodeled the bathroom to fit the modern day expectations of a “His & Her” facility. Even the inlaid tiles surrounding the walk-in shower had alternating “T’s” and “C’s” carefully set into a repeated pattern against the wall.

  Exhaling loudly as she shook her head, she ran her hands through her tangled mass of hair. “I’ve let this go too far,” she admitted dismally to herself. Rising shakily from the floor, she leaned against the sink for support. Staring into the mirror, she sighed again as she studied the troubled green eyes staring back at her. “I’ve got to tell him I need some space….that I’ve just got to be alone for a while.”

  “What if you lose him completely?” her reflection seemed to say, her nose and eyes still reddened from tears and heaving. “It’s time I was honest….to both myself and to Chandler.” Taylor mumbled aloud to the image. Turning, she fumbled to open the door, nearly running into Chandler as she stepped into the hall.

  “Are you all right?” he asked….his gray eyes dark with concern as he studied Taylor’s tear streaked face.

  “I’ll be fine.” She clipped, turning to walk down the hall and dropping to sit on the top step of the staircase.

  Lowering himself to sit beside her, Chandler suddenly felt wary…it was as though he could sense that somehow….an elusive decision…a note of finality was about to be proclaimed. Maybe it was the set of Taylor’s delicate mouth, or the way she’d squared her narrow shoulders as though preparing for a battle. Whatever it was…he was sure he didn’t want to hear it but he had no earthly idea of how to head it off.

  “Taylor..” he sputtered.

  Taylor raised her hand to interrupt him. “No…Chandler….I need to say something and I need for you to hear me out.”

  He snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard. He’d never quite seen Taylor this determined before.

  “I think it’s time we both were honest with ourselves and took a good long look at our relationship.” Her chin raised, Taylor stared off into space, her eyes glazed over with her storming emotions.

  “I need some time to myself…some time to sort through the loose ends in my life…to try to come to grips with the mortality of my mother. I’m not ready for marriage…or anything remotely close and I don’t think it’s fair for me to keep stringing you along the way I have over the past three years.”

  “You’re just over-wrought over whatever it was that happened last night. You just had a little too much wine mixed with too much stress….you don’t realize what you’re saying.” Chandler tried to take her hand in his….his eyes pleading with her to face him.

  Evading his grasp, Taylor shook her head and pulled herself up against the newly sanded banister. Rubbing her fingers gently up and down the satiny wood, she smiled sadly as a lone tear broke free to roll down her cheek.

  “Chandler,” she whispered. “You and I both know that’s not true. Be honest….just how long are you willing to wait?”

  “I figured once your mother finally died…you’d come running straight into my arms!” Blurting out his confession through his own storming emotions, Chandler bit his bottom lip as he realized how he must sound. “I don’t mean to sound unfeeling….but I just figured…I just thought….your mother was really the only thing holding you back.”

  Sighing deeply, Taylor pursed her lips into a frown, slowly wending her way down the steps. “I’m the one holding me back,” she stated upon reaching the landing. “But to be fair to both of us, I’m not going to do that anymore.”

  Opening the front door, she glanced back up the stairway at the grief-stricken man standing on the stairs. “Good bye, Chandler�
��.I’m sorry,” she whispered and then softly closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Three

  Taylor clicked the “Send” button on her e-mail, hoping the camera on her computer monitor was sending a clear image of the portrait to her friend at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She’d met Avery during a trip to New York where she’d saved him from investing in an extraordinarily good forgery; one that he was considering adding to the Museum’s second floor collection of European Paintings. Of course the Museum had no idea about the near miss, Taylor didn’t feel it was necessary to clue them in on the circumstances. It was an easy mistake that could happen to anyone. The forgery just happened to involve one of her favorite pieces; one that she’d studied for years, memorizing the minute details in case she was ever called upon to restore it. Avery Hines had been eternally grateful, frantically imploring her to contact him any time, for whatever reason. Now she had a reason…she had to identify the man from Mattie’s canvas.

  She’d endlessly searched the databases both at the University and the Regent Oaks Museum, beginning with 18th Century art and slowly working her way forward. She’d settled on that time period since the handsome warrior seemed to be wielding a sword from that era. Since she’d been unable to identify the name of the artist, she’d had to sort the databases by subject matter and so far, had come up with nothing. Hopefully, her e-mail to Avery would supply her with more information then she’d so far been able to find on her own.