Back-bowing, gut-wrenching sobs shattered out of her. The kind of sobs that emerged when a soul was tired, the kind that made one feel broken and then healed when it was over. Noelle hiccupped, clutching at Nicholas when he put his arms around her. He smelled of snow and a musky scent she couldn’t place, but she supposed it was just his natural scent. His beard scratched her forehead as he consoled her, and made soothing sounds as he rubbed her back. It was the scent of Nicholas, and his gentle touch, that eased her until she was finally calm enough to step back.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffled, wiping her nose with a handkerchief she kept on her at all times. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her hand was still throbbing, even with the cold water soothing the burn. There was just nothing that burned as much as scorching hot milk.
“I shouldn’t have slunk around like that, I just didn’t want to wake Carol.” Nicholas said, letting go of her. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Noelle said, perching on the small seat he’d retrieved for her. “I just… he used to… he’d snap out of nowhere. He’d be up in his study, and then he’d come down after having been angered by some of the finances, and he’d…”
“Take it out on you?” Nicholas supplied, taking her sore hand from the water. Somehow, when he’d gone to retrieve the stool for her, he’d also managed to grab some Carron oil—a mixture of linseed oil and lime water that Noelle kept in the cupboard especially for this purpose.
She nodded, wincing slightly as he rubbed the oil over her tender flesh. From what she could see, there were no blisters, but her skin was tender and red. Although it was nothing compared to the blisters Henry had left on her heart.
“He wasn’t a bad man when we first met, and I suppose he still wasn’t a bad man later in life before he died. I think he was just a bad husband,” Noelle admitted, voicing her thoughts on the matter—as she’d dissected it in recent years. Nicholas grunted, shaking his head,
“I’ll have to disagree with you there, darlin’. A man who lifts his hands to a woman is a bad man.” His tone was hard, his gaze unflinching.
“I suppose so.” Noelle fell silent, watching quietly as he wrapped her hand in a bandage to keep the oil from smudging onto the surfaces of the house. It was only when they were back downstairs, Nicholas fixing her a new cup of hot cocoa after cleaning the mess they’d made, that she began to open up fully.
She told him everything there was to know. What Henry had done to her over the years. She told him of the time he’d almost cut her hand off with a butcher knife after she’d disobeyed his command. She showed him the scar she still bore on her wrist; a thin white line from one side to the other.
Noelle told him of all the times he’d come home drunk, demanding a warm plate of food, when he was the one that had missed dinner. Henry would rouse her from sleep every night in the last years they’d been married, and it made her realize how long it had been since she’d had a good night’s rest, before he’d died. Nicholas stayed silent through it all, his body growing tense and his jaw clenched. She could see his hands, resting on the arm rests of the couch, squeezing the wood until it groaned, threatening to split.
She forged ahead, and told him everything. Showed him every physical and emotional scar, and he stayed to listen to all of it. Even when the time came for him to return home, and well after it had passed. Sometimes she cried, and sometimes she grew angry at the memories. Noelle found herself frowning at the scars on her body, a permanent reminder of the man she’d endured. Survived. It was the first time she’d spoken of it, the tale coming out in a torrent of words she couldn’t stop.
“Them there came a night when he returned from the saloon, drunk again. I… I prayed for an escape out of this life.” Noelle trembled, but steeled herself, as she took a sip of the hot cocoa Nicholas had just refilled for her.
“I prayed for him to leave me alone, and for my life to be changed.”
Nicholas had stayed silent through it all, not once interrupting or putting words in her mouth. He only spoke when he agreed, or to help her form the words when she struggled. He simply listened, added wood to the fireplace, and refilled her cup when she needed it.
“And now, you see, ever since his death, I have struggled with the possibility that I may have wished it into existence.” Noelle spoke the horrible truth of her thoughts, and what had plagued her so since that fateful evening Nicholas had brought her the news of Henry's death.
She glanced at Nicholas, waiting for the judgment, waiting for the gasp of horror and the look of pure undiluted disgust. She’d deserve it, after all, she had wished for the death of her own husband. But all she saw in Nicholas’ face was understanding. As if he knew what she was going to say before she said it, and knew that it was untrue.
It was late into the night when she finally grew silent, tapping her fingers nervously against the mug in her hand, as she contemplated her life. She didn’t notice when she dozed off, or even when Nicholas carried her to bed. She only noticed her relocation when he tucked the soft covers under her chin, his hand lingering inches above her face, and then he left.
The next morning, when the sun peaked in through the curtains of her bedroom, Noelle awoke with a smile on her face. Her eyes were still raw from crying the previous night, and her throat was unbelievably dry, but she felt… lighter. As if admitting all of those things to Nicholas last night had taken a weight from her shoulders; one she hadn’t been aware she was carrying. She’d never meant to open up to him about Henry, but before she could stop herself, his kind eyes had sent the words tumbling from her mouth.
Throwing back the covers, Noelle shoved her cold feet into her slippers, wrapping herself with one of the throws on her chair and made her way downstairs. She encountered Nicholas on his way out, his coat already on and his hand on the knob of the front door. She supposed he’d slept on the small sofa by the fireplace. There was no way he could have slept in the barn in last night’s cold.
“Going so soon?” She asked, smiling softly. Nicholas turned, slightly startled, and smoothed his short hair.
“I need to get home, there are some things I need to do.” He said, and disappointment crashed into Noelle. “Thank you for yesterday, it was great.” He turned and opened the door.
She nodded, trying her best not to let the smile slip. But something about what she’d said last night haunted her. “Nicholas?”
He turned back, hand resting on the knob of the open door. “Yes?”
She considered her question, contemplating why she needed to hear his answer in the first place. She did not need his opinion to cast judgment upon herself. So why did she desperately need him to give her the correct answer, to lift that burning feeling from her chest?
“Do you think I wished it? Do you think I wished Henry to die, by praying for my life to change?” She tucked hair behind her ear, gnawing on her lip nervously. “Do you think I’m to blame for his death? That it’s my fault?”
Nicholas stood still for a moment, staring down at the ground as he thought. Then, he stepped out of the doorway, shutting it behind him as he turned to her fully.
“No, I do not think so,” he said, instantly making relief crash through her body. “I think you were trapped in a home with no window or doorway out, and I think you needed help. But I do not think you are the cause of his death.”
“But why?” She asked, her voice shaking, before she could stop herself.
“Because you don’t have the vindictiveness for it.” He answered without hesitation, shrugging. “You don’t have an unkind or evil bone in your body.”
Noelle was taken aback by his answer, the absolute certainty in his eyes when he’d said it. They were both utterly still, the silence stretching for a moment or two while the both of them tried to dissect whatever was growing between them, and exactly what his words had meant. Were they friends? Something more? Or was she just seeing things because she had grown lonely since Henry's death—peaceful, but lonely nonetheless. Did she even want another man? Was she interested in Nicholas that way?
She certainly did have an attraction towards him, but that was to be expected, was it not? The man was one of the most handsome she’d ever met in her life. Possibly the most handsome. Judging by his stare, he was going through the same thoughts as Noelle was, trying to place her in a category and trying to figure out if he even had feelings for her at all. Both of them were unmarried and slightly lonely, so was it interest or loneliness that conjured up these feelings between them?
Noelle opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but Nicholas beat her to it.
“I have to get going now,” he said, promptly turning on his heel and closing the door behind him as he stepped out into the frigid air. She had barely gotten a word out before he’d left, leaving her standing with her mouth open like a fool. Noelle frowned, her mouth pulling in distaste.
However, while making tea, Noelle thought of the previous night—specifically the way he had touched her so tenderly, and cared for her when she’d burned. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about her, especially not Henry. He’d even left her to dress her own wound the day he’d cut her with the knife.
It was strange to her, to have someone help her and so tenderly oil and dress her wounds. She knew it felt good because she was smiling as she thought about it. But her blasted mind wouldn’t let the subject go, always overthinking and analyzing everything. She wasn’t anything to him; not a family member or a love interest.
And yet, he’d helped her, listened to her, consoled her when she sobbed, refilled her mug when it was empty, and sat with her into the early hours of the morning as she spoke of her life with Henry. And now, he’d given her such a lovely departing comment, even though he’d looked startled afterwards, that she wondered if she were overthinking everything or if they were truly entering developing feelings toward each other.
Her heart galloped when she thought about it, about the way he played with Carol and shared experiences with her. Her smile grew when she thought of his laugh and smile, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did. Noelle wondered if she was the only one that had butterflies filling her stomach at the thought of him, but then wondered if she ever wanted to be with another man anyway. But she couldn’t help it—no, those butterflies demanded to be felt, whether her mind and heart agreed or not.