Her Heart A Feast

Some nights I dreamt of fire. A blazing storm of destructive, hungry flame that swept in like a tide of angry light.

And in those dreams, I always died.

An array of russet colored cypress trees blurred past, interspersed with willows, ash and crimson-red maples. Dusk light burnished the marshlands in hues of rich red, darkest greens, and flashes of pale amber. My breath fogged the glass of the backseat window and had been since the cab driver picked me up from the airport.

I hadn’t expected such a severe chill given the rarity of such viciously cold weather in Louisiana. I’d been under the impression I was arriving to a warm, damp swampland. But the other nurses who told me so must have been teasing my naivety on the area. But I suppose it was easy to mock the girl who’d never been outside of her small town all her life.

Until now. And I hadn’t come prepared.

Fascination thrummed through me as the new world unfolded outside the cab. The wetlands were thrilling after the Sonoran Desert of Western Arizona. The complexity of the trees alone, how vast and tall they spread, kept my eyes occupied for the half hour drive.

My heart skipped when the cab driver slowed and turned down a narrow road. It was unmarked, and almost completely hidden in the marshy landscape. A prickle of unease skittered along my arms thinking about the endless opportunities for this life-change to have been a mistake. Accepting a new job several states over was never going to be easy, but the reminder didn’t sooth my rattled nerves.

The car lurched to a stop at the end of the long, enclosed lane and my stomach dropped.

“You have to get out here, miss,” the driver announced. He turned his head enough to flash a grimace, but the look wasn’t entirely apologetic.

“What? Why?” It was cold and getting darker by the second.

“We don’t go down there, no.” He clicked his teeth. “Rumor or not, I won’t be risking my life.”

A shiver ripped down my spine, and a nervous chuckle escaped. “Y-you’re life? What rumors?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about. Just local superstition, but my momma would swat my ears if I didn’t listen to her. If you don’t believe in ghosts, it’s no problem.” He shrugged, facing the front window as if that grim statement marked the end of the conversation.

We sat in silence for several awkward minutes. When I finally realized he wouldn’t be helping me further, I huffed and pushed open the back door. A biting wind nipped my ears and nose as I stepped out into the night. I’d barely tugged my overstuffed backpack from the trunk and slammed it shut when the cab driver peeled out.

Bits of gravel pelted my ankles.

“Hey, watch it!” But he was gone. Nothing more than two small lights blinking out as he turned onto the main road and vanished. Asshole.

I yanked my backpack, then hugged my arms around myself to brace against the wind. It was a long walk down a winding road with only a tiny light and house-adjacent silhouette to guide me.

A large house cloaked in a diaphanous haze emerged from the trees, like a hulking white monster clawing itself out of the dense cluster of nature. The two-story Greek revival nested in a dense thicket of creeping vines, sticking to the exterior like withered veins. Black wrought iron rimmed the wrap around porch and the matching balcony on the second floor. Thick, pale columns barred the front of the house, evoking visions of a grinning giant.

Immersed in darkness with nowhere else to go, I marched forward, ignoring the growing weight of misgiving in my chest. More than a prickling anxiety swelling behind my sternum, there existed a hammer of dread beating in time with my nervous heart. A tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump so loud in my ears it muffled the crunch of my boots on the long gravel road with each step nearer.

Only a singular, slim window was lit. The curtains shuddered and that light wavered, winking like a beast’s sleepy eye.

There was no sound save for the rustling of wind in the branches. No nature, no critters, no bugs. Just eerie silence muffling the world.

A twig snapped behind me.

I stopped and snapped my head around, searching for a source.

It was dark, and there was no one there.

Unsettled, I walked faster.

A whisper of air tickled my neck, and a shallow whine breached me. It hadn’t accompanied a breeze. It had felt like someone breathing on my neck.

Properly freaked out, I picked up the pace to a stiff jog.

My boot hit the first step to the porch. The front door whisked open, and a hint of warmth kissed my face.

“Oh, good heavens. Come in out of the cold!” A comely older woman’s face emerged from the shadows into the light. Her pale eyes glittered with kindness, and her expression was soft and welcoming. A friendly face erased the first layer of stress that had built up since taking the offer over the phone.

“It’s frightfully chilly out there. Quite uncommon this early in the year. But no matter, I’d hate for you to catch your death here.” A frigid breeze clawed across the back of my neck. “You must be Miss Arryn, is that right?”

“Thank you. Yes, that’s me.” A nervous chuckle accompanied a dry swallow. I clutched my backpack tighter to my chest as I squeezed through the threshold to pass her. “And are you the Mrs. Pruitt I spoke to on the phone?”

She clucked her tongue, smiling widely. “The one and only.”

The door shut, effectively cutting us off from the unseasonable chill outside. Fingers of cold kept hold of me as if trying to seep beneath my coat, into my skin, to burrow into my bones and freeze me from within. My breath continued fogging on my lips despite the warmth indoors.

Mrs. Pruitt lit lamps as she bustled through the home. Her short legs carried her faster than I expected, barely giving me any time to admire the lavish grandeur of the home. Everything had a sense of antique charm to it from the fine curtains to the well-kept furniture. Only the soft buttery glow of the lamps chased away the eerie gloom in the shadows. Like ancient things were watching from the depths. Ghosts, for those who believed in that sort of thing.

“We’ve got you in one of the guest rooms on the first floor, here. I hope you don’t mind being too near the kitchen.” I was just thinking about how much I didn’t mind it when she opened a white door at the end of the hall. She made angled her petite, voluptuous form to allow me into a surprisingly spacious room. “I washed the linens and dusted in preparation for your arrival, dear. I know it’s not it as grande as the rest of the house, but—”

“It’s perfect.” The sincerity in my tone made the older woman pause to consider me. I ignored the weight of her gaze as I turned, admiring every inch of the room.

There were no stains on the walls, or black mold spreading in the corners. No roaches or bugs skittered from one crack in the floor to the next. It smelled crisp and clean, like fresh air and warm laundry. The pale blue damask wallpaper complimented the white furniture. Ivory lace curtains were drawn, obscuring the deepening darkness of night outside. A glowing amber hued lamp sitting on the corner of a writing desk burnished the room in a comforting glow.

It was secure and welcoming. And, for now, it was mine.

“If there’s anything you need,” she said, “anything at all, please, let me know.”

It sounded like a departure, but I had a resurgence of energy flowing through me now. I needed to move, to explore, to continue shaking off the abominable chill trying to settle within me.

“Will I be meeting Mr. Rossiter tonight?” I blurted, keeping Mrs. Pruitt trapped in the doorway.

Her lips thinned in a morose smile, and her shoulders lifted with her long inhale. “If you’d like, dear.”

I shrugged my bag onto the edge of the bed and met her stare. “He’s the whole reason I’m here after all.”

“Very well.” She dipped her head and exited. I followed, trying to memorize the layout of the house as we went around corners and up a set of stairs. “I can give you a proper tour in the morning. The place practically glows when the sunrise comes through the windows.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” I replied.

A white door near the top of the stairs sat ajar. A dim light spilled from the crack, waiting for me. Faint, rasping breaths echoed from within.

“He’s already had his supper. So, he’s likely asleep by now,” she advised.

“That’s all right.” Even so, I held my breath as she pushed open the bedroom door.

I barely registered the old southern charm of the room. My focus landed on the hospital bed and the frail man barely making a dent in the mattress. A well-loved quilt covered him, barely rising and falling with his breaths. His head was turned away, mouth open as he slept. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his veins stood out against skin blanched of color. Barely more than skin and bone.

Ravaged by the leukemia rapidly spreading through his body.

Alfred Rossiter had gone on hospice care a few weeks ago according to the medical records emailed over. A poor prognosis gave him a handful of months left to live. He needed end of life care, gently tended to until the last breath.

And I needed someone to care for. I wanted to work in an environment where it mattered when a patient passed away. Where their belongings weren’t thrown in the dumpster out back because their family hadn’t cared to come for them. My sensibilities couldn’t handle the heartlessness.

I bent down and brushed a hand over the remaining wisps of white hair on his head. Something sad and warm blossomed in my chest as I gazed at him.

“Hello Alfred. I’m Gianna, and I’m going to take care of you.”

Until the end.