A Curse of the Heart

“I don’t follow, miss,” Higson said scratching his temple. “What need is there for objects when our loved ones never truly leave us? How can they, when they’re in our hearts? No one can rip the love from our hearts. No one can destroy the memories in our head.”

Rebecca felt a sudden rush of compassion, as she knew Higson spoke from experience. “You speak like a man who has lost a loved one. Like a man who has suffered the loss of a parent.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he sighed. “Not a parent. I never knew them. It was a wife I lost.”

The harrowing image of Gabriel lying cold on a stone slab caused her heart to hammer against her ribs. “I … I am sorry, Higson. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been.”

“Pay it no heed, miss. It was a long time ago. Daresay the heart never truly heals. But like I said, everything I need to know is stored in my head.”

Rebecca forced a smile. Would she ever feel that level of acceptance? Did she really need to surround herself with her parents’ belongings to keep their memory alive?

“I think I have formed attachments to things, to objects, as though they contain the essence of the person. If that makes any sense. I feel the same way about my father’s relics as I do my mother’s painting.” She had no idea why she was telling Gabriel’s coachman her innermost thoughts. Perhaps because he was easy to talk to. Because he did not judge her and her heart didn’t flutter when she looked into his eyes. “Being around their things gives me purpose.”

Higson’s expression softened. “I know it’s not my place to say, but when you only take comfort from the past, then there’s no hope for the future. I don’t suppose that’s what your parents would have wanted.”

The man was wiser than his years and his station.

“It’s the same for Mr. Stone,” he continued with a shrug. “But that’s his story to tell.”

A million and one questions flooded her mind. “Does Mr. Stone ever talk about his sister?” she asked even though she knew Higson would never betray a trust and suspected Gabriel never spoke of his feelings to anyone.

“Not to me, miss.”

“Thank you, Higson. You have been a great help to me today. More than you know.”

His plump face flushed and he shuffled from side to side while standing on the same spot. “I’d best go down and look at that door. Mr. Stone won’t be happy until he knows you’re safe.”

The last comment caused a bolt of awareness to shoot through her, an intense desire to feel the strong arms of his master wrapped tightly around her — the only place she truly felt safe.

Higson walked out into the hall, but then stopped and with a deep sigh trudged back to stand in the doorway.

“About Mr. Stone,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice. “He needs you, miss. He needs you more than he’s needed anything his whole life. He’s not the easiest of gentlemen, I know, but I once heard it said that the rocky path always has the better view.” He tipped an invisible hat and stalked off down the stairs.

Rebecca stood in frozen silence as she watched him go.

He needs you more than he’s needed anything his whole life.

The words echoed in her mind, filling her with a sense of purpose, flooding her body with warm feelings of desire, of love, a longing that burned with such vibrant intensity.

No one had ever needed her.

No one could imagine how desperately she wanted those words to be true. How they penetrated the loneliness, banishing it back to its cold dark place.

When you only take comfort from the past, then there’s no hope for the future.

Drawing strength from Higson’s wise words, she walked over to the chair and dragged the painting out to examine it.

Holding back a surge of emotion, she noticed there were two diagonal slashes across the canvas, splitting her mother’s perfect face into four equal triangles, the pieces flapping back and forth. It was a despicable thing for anyone to do and an hour earlier she would have sobbed until there were no more tears left to shed.

With a deep breath and a renewed sense of optimism, she pressed the pieces back into place. As the face became whole again, she noticed her mother was still smiling.

Higson was right.

Nothing could erase the memory of her mother’s happy countenance. To Rebecca, she would always be smiling, and she did not need a painting to remind her of that.

With a full heart, a feeling she thought she’d never experience again once witnessing the damage, she managed to gather the strength to hang it back on the wall above the fireplace. It would stay there until she found a way to get it repaired. It would remind her that love lived in her heart.

Rebecca spent a few minutes looking at the portrait, letting only positive memories of love and affection fill her thoughts. Grief had a way of numbing all other feelings and she did not want to live her life in a state of constant sorrow.