Chapter 44
At Brook’s request, Lance handed her a damp rag.
“I’d just like to help out around here a little more,” she explained as she approached the fireplace with its nooks and crannies to do some dusting.
“You don’t have to,” Lance said. “But you are certainly welcome to, if you want.”
She took down a small airplane sculpture and began wiping it. It was like no airplane she had ever seen. It had wooden wings, gears attached to the propeller, and smokestacks!
“I’m so intrigued by your work,” she told Lance. “These sculptures are just amazing. I can’t bring myself to believe an airplane like this could really fly!”
Lance smiled from the kitchen area where he was cleaning and oiling his tools. “No, it couldn’t,” he agreed. “It’s a fantastical thing. There was an old song called ‘Steam Powered Airplane’ that inspired me on that particular project.”
Brook wiped the light layer of dust from the nook and replaced the piece. Then she removed from another space an old-fashioned wooden case with metal pieces protruding from slots. Upon inspection, these turned out to be USB memory sticks for a computer, but they looked as if they belonged in a past century. Each one was different and unique, yet shared a similar old-fashioned look. Decorated with miniature brass pipes, tiny gears, and miniscule gauges, they had a 19
th
century appearance which created a sense of dissonance. Modern technology that looked antique!
“I use those when I go to the library. Problem with not having a computer here at home is I can’t really access the data. Still, I’ve stored a lot of my research on those. It saves me time.”
“Research?” Brook carefully dusted the small gadgets and replaced them in their wooden case.
“Nothing horribly academic, I’m afraid.” Lance placed the tools in a wooden tote and turned to face her. “Just things I’m interested in or information I need to make things work around here.”
Brook admired the other items. A small model of a futuristically-shaped metal house perched on a stem that reminded her for some reason of a submarine, but a very old one. A toy robot made of metal and wood with a tiny compass for a face. Brook inspected several devices of unknown purpose that were made of brass fittings and gears and appeared as if they would work, if she could only figure out their functions. There was even an odd metal steampunk goat, its joints similar to that of the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. She found the entire collection delightful and handled them with care.
Lance ascended the ladder to the loft and returned with clean sheets and an extra pillow.
“I thought we’d put the daybed back under the window,” he said, watching Brook carefully. Her response would tell him if that morning’s lovemaking was just a fluke or if it signaled a new beginning for them.
“Good idea,” she said, throwing him a sultry look. “I don’t think I’ll be using it much anymore. Do you?”
“Not if I have my way.” Lance laid the items on the bed and took her in his arms. “Unless we just get so involved we can’t wait until we get into the other room. Then it might come in handy.”
Which is exactly what happened at that very moment.
That evening after supper, Lance and Brook were sitting in front of the fireplace reading. The gentle strains of Neil Young’s
Harvest Moon
came from the radio. Brook felt Lance’s eyes on her like a caress. He laid his book aside, stood in front of her, and extended his hand.
“Dance with me?”
She looked up into his expressive brown eyes and placed her hand in his.
Oh! I wonder if I still know how; it’s been so long.
He pulled her gently to her feet as she tossed her book onto the chair. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they began to move slowly back and forth.
Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say
Lance placed his mouth close to Brook’s ear and sang along in a low quiet voice. He had a beautiful voice, and she felt a thrill pass through her.
Just like children sleeping
We could dream this night away
He kissed her neck softly and she ran her hands over his broad muscular back. She became aware of her pulse as it accelerated.
“Brooklyn,” he murmured. “I’ve got a bit of a problem.” They swayed to the music, bodies pressed together.
“What is it?” she asked softly, burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling his clean spicy scent. Her heart swelled in her chest like a flower opening into bloom.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
His words caused a tender cascade of sensations inside her. Her breath caught in her throat. In the heat of the closeness they shared at that instant, she could have told him she felt the same. Or she could have promised him body and soul, and meant every word. Or she could have confessed that she wanted him with an intensity that defied explanation. But she said none of these things for he placed a gentle finger over her mouth, stopping her. Then, he took his finger away and replaced it with his lips.
Lance didn’t know what Brook might have said. He was afraid to know. So, he silenced her with a kiss. He only needed, at that moment, for her to know his heart. He didn’t need, just yet, to know hers.
Because I’m still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Still kissing, they moved slowly across the floor. Outside the curtained doorway, Lance swept Brook into his arms. She held the curtain aside and they entered the bedroom.
Undressing slowly, each explored the other with tender touch and yearning gaze. Deep into the night, flesh joined to cherished flesh and they strained together in love’s most private dance.
Chapter 45
The next morning as Brook sat with Lance in his workroom, she laid her pencil on her pad and cleared her throat. He looked up from his project to find her staring at him.
“Something is really bothering me,” she said.
He waited.
“As I write, I keep remembering things. Jase and his gang mentioned my car being right where it was supposed to be.” Brook frowned. “What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know, Brooklyn. I guess it could mean a number of things. Maybe they had someone cruising around, looking for a good vehicle to take. Maybe the spotter saw your car and started following you, then called them with the location when you stopped. Or maybe someone knew you were going to that exact spot and tipped them off ahead of time.”
“Exactly,” she said, feeling as though she were venturing into fearful territory. “And as far as I know, the only person who knew where I was going…was Clark.”
Lance looked thoughtful but said nothing.
“But that’s impossible.” She chewed on the end of the pencil for a second. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know the man, Brooklyn.” Lance’s tone was steady, noncommittal. “You’d be in a better position to judge that.”
“Maybe the shock of what I went through has made my memory unreliable. But that’s what I
thought
I heard. When you combine that with the fact that Benny had a key…”
“It isn’t logical. I mean, you and your husband have plenty of money. From your description of him, he doesn’t sound like a criminal.” Lance bent over his project once again as he talked. “Plus, I can’t believe he’d want anything bad to happen to you. He’d have to be insane.”
“You’re right; it’s ridiculous.” Brook shook her head and picked up the pencil once again.
“I never said it was ridiculous. I just said the man would have to be insane to put you at risk in any way.”
Brook doodled on her paper. “My perceptions could be a little off, I guess. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this right now. When I first sat down, I was actually planning to try and write a poem.”
Lance looked up at her and wondered why she changed her mind about following this line of thought. He had wanted to explore the subject a little further, but if she didn’t feel the same, then he wouldn’t pursue it. He let the topic slide away. “A poem? About what?”
“This place.” She smiled at him. “The forest, the cabin, the snow…I don’t know. Just this wonderful place.”
“I admire people who can write poetry. I feel poetic sometimes, but could never get the feeling into words.”
“I don’t know if I can either,” she replied. “But I’m going to try.”
“While you’re doing that, I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Would you like some?” Lance stood.
“Sure, thanks,” she said, intent on the page in front of her. Lance stepped close to her on his way to the kitchen and grabbed her empty cup. He kissed the top of her head and lingered beside her, gazing over her shoulder at the curve of her cheek.
She should just describe herself if she wants to create a beautiful poem.
Chapter 46
“How about some music while we eat?” Lance asked one evening as they prepared to sit down to supper. He turned on the radio. The reception was bad, but through a web of static they heard the familiar strains of Christmas music.
“It’s Christmastime already? I didn’t realize. I love Christmas songs, especially the older ones.” She strained to hear the music. “What is the date, anyway?”
“The date?” Lance looked surprised but then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should have realized you’d have no idea of the date. It’s December 18
th
. I keep a small calendar taped to the inside of the workshop door of the cabinet closest to my bedroom if you ever need it. I’m sorry Brook, I should have kept you informed, it’s just that time doesn’t mean that much to me, including the date.”
Brook smiled softly, “It’s okay, Lance. I never thought about the date until now. It’s fine.
Lance raised his shoulders in an apologetic shrug and turned back to the radio. He twiddled with the radio knob, but finessing the dial only made the sound worse, and admitting defeat, he shut it off. He turned to Brook with a hopeful look. “Looks like we’ll have Christmas together this year.” He hadn’t celebrated any holiday for a long time. He wondered how Brook would react to Christmas. She had been through so much and might not even want to celebrate the season. Plus, she’d be with him instead of her husband or family.
“We certainly will. And it will be a Christmas to remember.” Brook determined to make it a joyous occasion. "I'm so grateful to be alive, and safe, I feel like there's plenty to celebrate." Her enjoyment of the season would be like a thumb in the eye of her abductors, and a willful act of defiance to the bad feelings that lingered.
Lance was relieved. “I’ll find a tree tomorrow. But, we’ll have to make our own decorations,” he said. “There isn’t much time. Christmas is next week.”
“There’s plenty of time!” Brook was enthusiastic. “I bet there are all kinds of things around here we can use for ornaments.”
Lance suggested they have roast duck with all the trimmings. Brook, after rummaging through Lance’s supplies, volunteered to make pineapple upside-down cake, an old family recipe. Excited, they made their plans.
That evening, Lance excused himself and went to his workroom. Brook didn’t follow; she wanted the time alone to think of something she could make for him for Christmas. But what? She didn’t want to ask Lance if she could use things from the cabin, and she couldn’t exactly go shopping. She pondered her dilemma. She selected and discarded a number of ideas. Finally, inspiration struck. She dug in the kitchen for the scraps of fabric left over when she altered Lance’s clothes to fit her. He had tossed the remnants into the rag bag, but she rescued them and tucked them inside her purse. Then she took out her notepad.
Unknown to Brook, while she sought an idea for his present, Lance was working on a gift for her. That night after they made love, Brook found it difficult to fall asleep. Memories, good and bad, assailed her along with a niggling sense of guilt and confusion over Clark. Yet, she rested her head on Lance’s shoulder and delighted in the warmth of his body, his tender protective embrace. Surprised that she could hold so many simultaneous conflicting emotions, Brook seemed almost a stranger to herself in many ways. Although she had anticipated changes, negotiating her internal environment was sometimes like visiting a place she had never been before.
Thoughts of her and Lance’s plans for the holiday further disrupted her slumber. She had just given up and resigned herself to lying awake all night, when sleep sneaked up on her and pulled her down into its soft depths.
The next morning, after breakfast, Lance hurried through his chores, anxious to find just the right tree. He let Gilbert out, allowing her to accompany him on his search. Her belly was rounding out nicely and swung a bit from side to side as she trotted along.
Lance had to shake the snow from each tree before he could see its true form. Some of this snow landed on Gilbert, and she pranced away, shaking her head as she turned a reproachful eye upon him. In some places, the snow was so deep she nearly got stuck. Lance admonished her gently. "Stay with me, now."
Finally, after searching for over an hour, Lance spotted the perfect tree. Wielding his axe, he made short work of chopping it down. He bound the branches with a piece of twine and hauled it home. After returning Gilbert to her pen, he carried his find inside the cabin.
Brook’s face lit up when she saw the tree. Lance cut the twine loose and the branches sprang back into shape, revealing a Douglas fir almost perfectly shaped, and nearly as tall as her.
“Let’s put it in front of the window,” Brook suggested. “I know there’s no one out there to see it, but I think that’s where it belongs.”
“We’ll see it,” Lance reminded her. “When we’re coming in from outside, we’ll see it in the window.”
“That’s right!” Brook smiled at him.
They decorated the tree with little odds and ends from Lance’s workroom, metal pieces that flashed and sparkled. Popcorn was strung and slender paper chains were fashioned. When they were finished, they stood back to admire their work and were pleased with the result.
“Next year we’ll add some battery-powered lights.” There was a pause. Lance felt his spontaneous joy slipping away when he remembered that Brook wouldn’t be here next year. He quickly moved past the sad thought and returned the bright smile to his face. Brook let the comment slide, not wishing to think about leaving either.
For the next few days, every time Lance went outside, Brook stayed in and worked on his gift. For his part, Lance spent more time than usual alone in his workroom, with an ear cocked toward the doorway so he could hide his project if he heard Brook coming.
Christmas Day arrived and they woke to more snow. It had fallen softly during the night adding a thick new layer over the slopes and trees. Before getting out of bed, Lance held Brook close and warm under the blankets, brushing the hair from her eyes with a tender touch.
“Merry Christmas, Brooklyn,” he whispered.
She snuggled in and answered, “Merry Christmas, Lance.”
There was excitement in the air, similar to that of holidays past, when Brook was a child. As an adult she still loved Christmas, but hadn’t felt that old enthusiasm for years. Now, it was back.
Lance cleared the new-fallen snow from the paths and completed his chores while Brook had a quick bath. He carried in the eggs and set them on the counter, then waited his turn in the bathroom. Brook started breakfast while he showered. She was getting better at working the old black stove.
After eating, they sat before the decorated tree. Lance was surprised to note a second gift sitting under the tree next to the one he had placed there last night before bed. He reached for his gift to Brook and placed it gently into her hands. Brook’s hands shook slightly as she removed the paper from around the gift. Inside she found a small wooden box. Lance had crafted the container to look old fashioned, with brass corners and delicate carvings. He watched anxiously as she opened the lid, relieved as a smile raised the corners of her full lips. Inside, she found a steampunk charm bracelet with dangling metal pieces that included tiny gears, wheels, hearts, and miniature antique keys.
“Oh, Lance! It’s absolutely lovely.” Her eyes sparkled. He reached over and helped her put on the bracelet. His touch lingered on her wrist. They shared a slow tender kiss. “Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it always. And the box, too! It’s so pretty, so unique. I just love it.”
“You’re welcome, Brooklyn. I’m glad you like them.”
“Open yours now!” Brook handed him a gift wrapped in brown paper from a grocery sack and tied with twine. She had fashioned a bow from the same cord creating a package with homespun appeal that was pleasing to the eye. He hadn’t really expected a gift, knowing she had no way to get him one. He untied the string and pulled the paper apart. Inside he found a small cloth-covered book made from scraps of a flannel shirt that he recognized as the one she had resized to fit her. It was bound with a thin suede strip looped through two holes and tied in a knot. In the middle was a small pocket with a little scroll sticking out. He unrolled the small piece of paper and found it said ‘to Lance from Brooklyn’.
“How did you do this?” he asked, turning the book over in his hands.
“Oh, it was really nothing,” Brook said, thinking of how she had taken the cardboard backing of her writing pad and covered it in fabric for the back and front. “But open it! Read the inside.” She looked down, suddenly shy.
The pages were sepia, and Lance recalled Brook asking for tea bags one day. He now understood that she had treated the paper to make it look old. Page one featured a simple ink drawing of his cabin in the snow. On page two, he found the first poem.
If there ever were a place to be
lost, reduced to a painful crawl
It would be here in the piney trees,
God guiding me through nature’s sprawl.
If there ever were a man to find me,
to rescue me from savage harm
it would be you, so strong and kind
to soothe my grief and mend my heart.
If there ever were a way to stay
where hurts are healed and tears are dried,
somehow to you I’d find my way
And stay forever by your side.
“I did the best I could, but they’re not very good. I’m anything but a poet,” Brook said.
“It’s beautiful,” Lance told her, his eyes warm. He wanted to ask her if she really meant the words, if she would really stay by his side. Then he read it again and focused on the line,
if there ever were a way to stay
and thought he had his answer. But he refused to be sad this day. He turned the page.
He found more poems; one about the comfort and warmth of the cabin, a humorous one about Gilbert’s impending motherhood, and an intense sonnet about their lovemaking that was so intimate it caused a slow wave of heat to wash over his body.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” he whispered, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re right, these aren’t good; they’re excellent. I would say you definitely have a way with words.” He moved closer to her. “You have taken my heart, you know. And your writing captures that feeling exactly. Thank you.” She smiled at his praise, her cheeks flushed.
He looked through the book again, stood, and offered her a hand up. He set the book in a place of prominence on the mantle before taking her in his arms.
“Brooklyn.” He spoke her name like a song. “I don’t know whether you want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. I love you. I love you so much.”
She laid her head against his chest, lifted high by the words she had longed to hear. Her heart swelled with emotion, and she looked up into his eyes. “I love you, too, Lance.”
The kiss was long and intense, and led them to the passion that was always humming between them, just below the surface. They sank onto the daybed in the corner and surrendered to the heat of their ardor. Afterward, Lance cradled her in his arms and stroked her hair. They were drowsy and satisfied. Eventually, they rose to prepare their Christmas dinner, having decided to eat at noon and then snack on leftovers throughout the rest of the day.
Gathering the ingredients for her holiday cake, Brook was sharply aware of the grief her family would be struggling with at this time. She said a silent prayer for her loved ones. In spite of a pang of guilt, she also said one for Clark and hoped the Lord would listen to her under the circumstances.
Lance kindled the fire in the cook stove. He carried the thawed duck to the sink area and washed it thoroughly, rubbed salt into its cavity-and placed it in the center of a roasting pan. Collecting a couple of apples and an onion, he chopped them and mixed in some pecan halves and spices. He stuffed the duck with this mixture, and then smeared butter over the breast. Covering the pan loosely with foil, he slid it into the oven.
He glanced over at Brook. She was mixing ingredients in a bowl at the table and seemed preoccupied.
“Missing your family?” he asked, perceiving her thoughts, as usual. Sometimes she was shocked at how well he could read her.
“I am,” she answered. “But it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” With a force of will, she pushed her worries to the back of her mind. She was not going to taint this day with sorrow. “I just need to keep reminding myself how relieved and happy they’re going to be when I come home,” she continued. “They’ll probably feel like I’ve returned from the grave. What about you, Lance? Do you miss your family?”
“Sure,” he answered. “In fact, I’m going to visit them as soon as I can. I’ve decided it’s time I stop being so selfish. If I want to hide from the world, that’s fine. But it won’t hurt me to go see my folks more often. I guess I feared it would be too painful to be around them, with their eyes full of sympathy and concern for me. I thought it would rip down my defenses, break my heart all over again. Somehow I’ve been able to shut off the emotions for a long time. Having you here has kind of changed that.”
“Is that bad?” Brook gave him an intent look.
“No, no, baby. It’s good. It’s opened up some areas I had been trying to ignore, but I feel more alive than I have in years. It’s a change. But it’s not a bad one.” He paused and reflected for a moment. “Are you aware this is the first Christmas I’ve celebrated in…wow, five years? And, this is one of the best I’ve ever spent, special, with gifts from the heart.”
Brook smiled as she played with her bracelet. “I know what you mean. Christmas has gotten so commercialized. It’s wonderful to have a small celebration. Your gift means more than the ones I usually receive. I’m glad I could bring the happiness of a holiday back to you.”
Lance smiled to himself. She had no idea how close she came to tons of gifts. He had wanted to give her all the steampunk items he had finished and make a few more besides. But, he had controlled himself and she seemed to be happy.