AN:
An attempt at a Taboo fiction. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!
Chapter One
The horses trudged along the cobblestone with familiar ease as they pulled their cargo. The driver snapped the reigns and they obliged each silent command before coming to a stop in front of a familiar old, nearly dilapidated, home.
Brace saw the advance of the carriage and had been expecting it as he did every Wednesday. It was tradition, at this point –routine.
The aged man exited the house and jogged easily down the steps to the street where the carriage sat. The young woman at the reigns smiled to him with the familiar glint of a child he knew long ago. Despite the years, she still looked so much like she did back then.
"Mornin', Lady Cunningham." He greeted warmly.
"Brace," she laughed softly. "Enough, stop it. I hate it when you call me that."
He chuckled heartily and turned his attention to the wood stacked in the back of the carriage. Every Wednesday, Cora Cunningham would drive to Delaney Manor to have tea with Brace. Periodically, she would come bearing enough wood to set a bonfire taller than the home itself. Now, seemed to be such an occasion.
"I'll bring this around back and change."
"For what?" he asked as he looked to her once again.
She again smiled warmly, "To help you unload it, of course."
Brace scoffed and shook his head. "Don't you dare." He warned without any real tone. "Manual labor's no thing for a lady to be doing."
Cora rolled her eyes wide and shook her head in disbelief. Every time she offered anything in the ways of help, he'd always repeat the same thing.
"Stop it," she sighed when she met his gaze again. "I'm more than capable, so let me help."
He eyed her sternly like he always did –like a disapproving father- but she didn't bother heeding it. Instead, she snapped the reigns once more and told Brace in passing that she'd bring the carriage around to the alley behind the house, closer to the barn where they boarded their horse.
He continued to grumble to himself as he returned to the interior of the manor. One day, Brace hoped to make the girl listen, but he doubted it would ever happen.
Cora guided her horses pass the short wall that encompassed the property and brought it near the barn. She was sure to position it in such a way she could later leave, and then leapt down from her seat. Grabbing her bag, Cora headed in through the back door and upstairs with every intention of changing out of her dress and into something more conducive to the task at hand.
The moment she stepped through the threshold, however, Cora felt the atmosphere press on her shoulders. Her memories of Delany Manor had once been happy. Growing up alongside the two children, her time within those walls was wonderful, but now it felt so empty. It seemed none of her childhood remained, save Brace.
Horace and her father were childhood friends as well, so it only bore to reason that their children would be the same. Being forced to spend so much time together, there was little else that could happen. But Cora doubted the relationship she had with the two Delaney siblings was what either of their parents expected.
She couldn't put into words what she felt for Zilpha and James. They were part of her, in some ways. They were her links to another world she didn't know existed and she loved them both for it, and their secrets.
But when James died –his mother and Zilpha's shortly following suit- and Cora's own father perished, there felt to be nothing left. Naturally, Cora sought to cling to the only person she had left and for a short time, it worked. She and Zilpha remained together, side by side forever, until she met her future husband.
Cora couldn't place when the change came, but it felt sudden. Without warning, Zilpha's door was closed to her permanently and without explanation. Cora didn't know what Thorne told her, but whatever it was, Zilpha believed wholeheartedly that Cora was little more than a blight on her past, something not even worth remembering. It hurt. It physically hurt. Not even when Cora married did she forsake Zilpha, but clearly the same could not be said on Mrs. Geary's part.
Perhaps that was why she visited Brace as often as she did? Perhaps, now on her own, Cora needed that reminder of the past, of the things that helped shape her and comforted her when she needed it?
The moment he stepped through the front door, James knew something was different. Nothing was out of place, not the furniture or even a fleck of dust shifted, but something was off.
He stood in the foyer with his hat in hand and his narrowed gaze drifting around the space. He felt it –in his very being- that something was different. It was the same as a pebble in his boot -a gnawing, unfamiliar irritation that needed to be dealt with.
"Brace!" he called from his spot. His servant's footsteps soon met his ear and a moment later, the old Scotsman appeared at the end of the hall. "Someone's in my house." He said. Brace's face immediately fell. "Who?"
Cora didn't hear his silent footsteps, or realize she was being stalked by a dangerous predator. She was too busy removing her dress to change into something more labor-friendly.
She slid the garment from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor in a puddle of fabric at her feet. She stepped out of it, ignorant to the eyes on her back. James had woven through his home without a sound and emerged in the door behind her just as silently. He watched as she moved, as she let her dress fall and bent down to reach for her trousers.
As Cora tied her trousers on, she felt the air around her shift. A trickle of something crawled up her spine. She was suddenly aware there was someone else in the room, and she knew it wasn't Brace. The old man walked like a bull through the house. She could have heard him a mile off, so this was someone else.
Every nerve began to tingle and she knew she had to act. Still, feigning ignorance, Cora knelt down to retrieve the shirt she planned to wear, but reached for something else completely. Nestled within her bag, hidden in folds of fabric, was a pair of knives and she drew them quickly.
Without warning, Cora stood, spun and launched one of the two blades at the intruder. It sailed through the air and embedded itself deeply in the wooden wall just beside the man's head. The man she'd thrown the knife at seemed unphased by her or the weapons she donned.
Instead, calmer than anyone rightfully should be during a tense situation, he reached for the knife beside him and yanked it from the wall. He examined it as he took lazy steps forward. Cora was struck dumb.
"Impossible," the word left her lips on a breath.
James stepped forward still holding the knife as he gradually met her eye. He was blank and emotionless -calm despite the tension.
Her eyes danced along his features. It was him -there was no denying it. She recognized his sculpted features, his icy green eyes, his full lips and the cut of his jaw. The scar surrounding his left eye and the hair across his chin did nothing to disguise the young man she'd known nearly all her life. Cora felt tears immediately flood her eyes and the remaining knife slip from her grip. It fell to the floor with a dull thud, digging its blade into the old wooden slats and jutting out.
James remained silent as he took casual steps towards the woman in his house. He examined her just as she had him, but with a cold level of detachment. He said nothing of the fact that she was standing in a pair of trousers with nothing but her stays covering her chest. Most women would shy away while wearing nothing but a corset and slacks, but she was too shocked to notice, and he didn't truly seem to care.
"You're not real."
"No?" he asked with a rumbling voice that made her shudder. He was less than a foot from her.
She shook her head, "You bear his face, but-"
Cora reached forward and tenderly touched his cheek. Her eyes were locked to her touch. James said nothing and didn't move. He let her look at him as intensely as she did –he let her examine him.
Cora didn't know what she expected to happen, but touching a tangible human being wasn't it. Honestly, she assumed her fingers would drift straight through him, but they never did. He was real. He was there, but something felt wrong. Cora couldn't put her finger on it.
"You're not the same," she muttered softly as she met his gaze once again. "Something's different."
"You're right." He told her simply.
The relief she felt at seeing him again was enough for Cora to reach forward and hug him despite her uncertainty. She clung to him tightly, buried her face in the nape of his neck and held on as though he was just a figment of her imagination destined to disappear any moment.
James didn't immediately move and instead let her hug him. It'd been a long time since he felt the warmth of another living person pressed against his body -ignoring the hug from Brace when he arrived.
Eventually, James returned the sentiment and hugged her securely. He felt indifferent about the affectionate attention, but Cora reveled in it.
Gradually, a moment or two passed before the pair parted. Staring down at her, James felt the same rush of familiar emotions he had when he saw Zilpha only a few days prior, but his face remained blank.
"You weren't at my father's funeral." He said when they parted. It wasn't a question in the typical sense, but Cora could tell he wished to know why.
"No," she shook her head and took a step away, ensuring there was space between them. Despite having him back, Cora felt strange when confronted with James again. Some part of her refused to believe he was real despite the joy she felt. "I wasn't."
James waited for a moment to hear her explanation, for her to tell him why she avoided his father's funeral and wake, but she didn't. Cora had no intentions of elaborating.
"Hm," he muttered as he looked over her once again. "You should get dressed." And with that, James left the bedroom.
When he was gone, Cora felt the air rush back into her lungs. She didn't know if –or why- she'd been holding her breath, but clearly she was. The world spun and her mind raced. James was back, he was alive, and she'd just spoken to him. It seemed too fantastical, like her fantasies had finally come to fruition. If she hadn't touched him, she wouldn't believe it.
Outside and donning the clothes of a man, Cora busied herself with the task at hand. She stood on the back of the carriage, tossing logs onto a tarp laid over the grass. In a moment, when it was sufficiently filled, she'd drag it to the barn and stack it against one of the interior walls then repeat the process. Brace had tried to keep her from doing it, but when she stared at him warningly, he wisely disappeared into the house again. He knew she was angry about James' resurrection and his clear knowledge of it, so he decided to avoid her for the time being. She'd calm later and likely forgive him for not telling her, but he didn't wish to be near her while she was in possession of heavy things she could throw.
Inside, the dull thud of wood hitting the soft earth and the clack of logs smashing against one another was easily heard. James found himself standing in the window, watching the young woman tending to the work in the cold without a coat or care. His insides twisted, but he'd never let the emotions touch his face.
"Why wasn't Cora at my father's funeral?" he asked after a lengthy silence.
"Couldn't say," Brace replied honestly. "But it probably has something to do with your sister."
"Hm?" James glanced over his shoulder at the old man tending to something in the background.
"Not long after she married that husband of hers," Brace's voice was clipped and curt when speaking about Mr. Geary. After meeting him briefly, James understood the sentiment. "The misses cut contact with everyone, including Cora."
James nodded and let his eyes drift once more through the aged, warped panes of glass. He didn't like hearing that his sister turned her back on Cora, but given her domineering and pompous husband, he assumed it was likely easier than fighting the man. Still, he was disappointed.
He continued to stare at Cora, sure she sensed it but refused to look at him. Her hair was still ebony black, her skin fair and her frame slight. She still had crystal blue eyes and lips as full as his own. She still looked like she did when he left, but he could tell she'd changed, too. He didn't know how just yet, but he knew something was different.
Outside, Cora let the cold air hold her. She let it caress her and chill her to the bone because she needed it to. Now that the shock had dissipated, she was angry. James was alive, which meant he had been for the years since his death was announced, and he chose to remain gone. Sure the truth of what happened during those years wasn't known to her, but she doubted they were important enough to keep him from those he loved.
Suddenly, a shard of ice trickled down her spine. Cora stood upright as a thought came to her. Perhaps, she wasn't as loved by the Delaney children as she once thought? How could she be if both Zilpha and James cast her aside so easily as they aged? Was there any other explanation?
Fighting back the lump growing in her throat, Cora refused to let her tears return. Instead, she leapt from the back of the carriage, gripped the edges of the tarp and hauled it into the barn behind her.
She wanted to be happy James was home, but something –be it foolishness or unfounded paranoia- wouldn't let her.