Blessed Assurance (33 page)

“I've wanted to visit you before this,” Clarence said with his hat balanced on his knee. “But I wasn't well and my parents insisted I take no action until my sister's elopement had been accepted by society.”

Cecy was shocked by his frankness and couldn't reply.

“You've heard that Hunt married Clarissa?” Fleur asked gently.

Cecy remembered Clarissa's nasty phone call. Clarence's frankness made her brave. “Do your parents approve of the elopement?”

“They have no choice. Clarissa would have been ruined if her marriage weren't accepted.”

Linc spoke, “What can we do for you?”

Glancing sideways toward Clarence and Linc, Cecy compared the men. Clarence was still handsome in spite of the vivid red welt on one cheek. But Linc's face showed strength and wisdom.

Tugging off her pale kid gloves, Fleur replied, “We've been reading about what you've been doing at your canneries. It's wonderful—exciting.”

Cecy couldn't hide her pleasure. “For the first time, I feel like I'm doing something important with my life.”

Clarence edged forward on his chair. “And we want you to know that we're going to do everything we can to smooth your way back into society—”

Cecy's heart jerked in her breast. “I don't—” Fleur leaned over and touched Cecy's hand. A large diamond ring on Fleur's caught her eye. “You're engaged?”

Fleur blushed. “Yes, Clarence did the honor of proposing to me.”

Linc cleared his throat. “Congratulations, both of you.”

“Yes, I wish you both happiness.” Cecy meant the words.

Clarence nodded. “We came to ask you to be Fleur's maid of honor.”

Cecy gripped the leather arms of her chair.

Clarence lifted his chin. “Fleur and I hope it will further your acceptance back into society.”

Cecy noted Fleur had lowered her worried brown eyes. “But shouldn't your sister be matron of honor?”

His handsome face tightened. “She'll be near the end of her confinement by then.”

Cecy felt ill. Victor Hunt, a father?
No
.

Bridging his hands in front of himself, Linc leaned forward; his voice calm. “I understand your generous motive to help right the wrong done to Cecilia, but you may do a lot more harm than good. Why not wait until your sister recovers from her confinement? Passing over Clarissa for someone your sister views as a rival may cause hard feelings that could linger for years.”

“Linc's right. And we all know what kind of man Victor is.” Cecy didn't want Clarissa cut off from help as her mother had been. “Your sister will need your support…” Discretion stopped her.

“I've already warned Hunt I'll visit my sister often.” Clarence gave her a look filled with meaning. A few more moments of polite conversation, then the happy couple left. Cecy stood next to Linc at the office door, watching the elevator doors close. “I didn't believe you when you said they would assist me back into society.”

“I was proud of you just now.” He rested one hand on her shoulder. “Your first thought was for Clarissa.”

“I pity her. I pray she doesn't suffer from her poor choice.” Her tone spoke of her own pain.

Linc touched her cheek. “You don't have a very high opinion of marriage.”

She reacted to his soft touch, her breath catching. “Would you if you were me?”

The coldness of her tone pierced Linc, an icy needle through his heart. Did she doubt him, too? He'd started letting go of his guilt over losing Virginia. Could Cecy ever let go of her distrust of men? His voice dipped lower as emotion expanded inside him. “What if someone fell in love with you?”

She faced away from him and with a harsh imitation of worldly wisdom said, “No one will ever love me—except for my money.”

Under the sarcasm, he heard the deeper pain. Just as he'd clung to his own grief, she didn't want to believe she was lovable. He stepped nearer. The creamy skin of her nape glowed in the light. His words came out hoarse and low. “My own inheritance is more than I'll ever need.”

She didn't turn to him.

Leaning forward, he let his own breath caress her neck, just below her ear. He drew her shoulders back to him. The wool of her suit sensitized his fingertips. He whispered into her ear, “I love you—you, headstrong, passionate, innocent woman. You're too young for me and I vowed never to forget my wife, but I love you. I believe in God and the work He's given me. You have no faith beyond yourself. Yet I…love…you.” He turned her by her shoulders—fraction by fraction. Then his lips brushed hers.

Cecy felt lighter than air—as though she might drift away from the earth. She slipped her arms around his neck, then she lifted herself on tiptoe so she could return his kiss. His enthralling kiss. She felt him loosen her hairpins. Her hair slid free.

With one arm, he cradled her head. With the other, he drew her hair forward over her shoulder. “You always smell of spring flowers.” Lacing his fingers through her silken hair, he turned his head and kissed her parted lips.

Linc, Linc
. All the jagged, sharp edges of her shattered emotions cried out for his restoring touch. His insistent lips wandered down her neck. Each tender kiss, each feather-soft caress soothed, healed her.

She floated on the warm tide of the sensation. All the operas
she'd ever sung had glorified love, passion. Was this what Madame Butterfly experienced in the arms of her American officer? Was this love, temptation? Was this what brought joy, then tragedy?

She pulled back, her hands pushed forward fending him away. “No. I want no man's love.”

“Even mine?” His gaze held her motionless.

“Even yours.” She turned her back to him and gathered up her wanton hair, twisting it back into place. “I will never marry.”

“And I never thought I could love again. I've changed. You've changed.”

“Don't love me, Linc.”

He stared at her back, stiff and resolute. “Please forgive me. It won't happen again.” Each polite word cost him.

Without a backward glance, she sat at her desk.

Linc stared at her.
My love for you must come from God. I never sought it. I love you, Cecilia, for better or worse, for richer for poorer, until death do us part. Just as only death parted me from Virginia, my first love, not my last.

 

In the brightly lit, crowded restaurant at their table for four, Cecy couldn't take her eyes off Linc, devastatingly handsome in evening dress. Fleur sat to her left; Clarence to her right. Lucchetti's, done in red, white, and green, the first-ever Italian restaurant for Cecilia and Fleur, had been Clarence's choice for their dinner date.

After the last round of gossip over her mother's illness and her own new profession, Cecy hadn't wanted to appear in public with Fleur. Both Effie Bond and Bonnie LaRoux had called to give her sympathy and encouragement. She'd felt their concern was genuine, not society's insincere show. Perhaps she could have that kind of easy entree into every level of society as Linc. Still, Linc's kisses haunted her day and night.

“Cecilia.” Fleur touched her hand and nodded discreetly to the side.

At Fleur's hint, Cecy glimpsed Mrs. Ward and Ann sitting down
at a table to their left. Cecy's pulse sped up. She glanced forward, knowing she'd find Linc gazing at her. When she recalled his fingers lacing through her hair, she felt thankful that her hat's veil hid her blush.

Linc experienced a stab of regret, longing. The woman he loved sat across the table from him—unreachable. She might as well be standing on the other side of the Pacific.
Life and love are so fragile in this fallen world. Let me love you, Cecilia.

“Both of you, we'd still love to have you come to our wedding.” Fleur glanced at each of them in turn.

Linc waited to see what Cecilia said.

Cecy took a sip of her tea. “I'll see how my mother is.”

With a flourish, the white-aproned waiter brought a large wooden bowl of lettuce, tomatoes, and green onions and tossed their salad at the table. Taking her first bite, Cecy savored the tangy dressing. She turned to Fleur. “Are you going to hear Caruso sing?”

“Oh, I would love to.” Fleur nodded.

A motion to Cecy's left froze her in place.
Oh, no
.

Linc glanced up to see Mrs. Ward and Ann approaching their table. Why did they have to come here tonight of all nights? He rose politely.

“Miss Jackson, we thought that was you.” Mrs. Ward's piercing voice cut through the hubbub of the restaurant.

Clarence stood; Linc clutched his napkin like a weapon.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ward, Ann,” Fleur greeted them.

Cecilia remained frozen.

Mrs. Ward gushed to Fleur, “Are you celebrating your engagement with Miss Jackson and Lincoln?” Mrs. Ward offered Clarence her hand. “Lincoln, I just received a letter from your dear Aunt Eugenia. She's so excited. Everyone in Boston's read your first issue.”

With a swirl of ostrich feathers, the lady turned back toward the table. “But your article, Miss Jackson! Your description of those poor babies brought tears to my eyes. Didn't you agree, Ann?”

Ann nodded. “I think you're wonderful, helping people—”

“Yes, such good work,” Mrs. Ward finished for her. “Cecilia,”
the matron lowered her voice, “I'm so sorry your mother had a relapse.”

Cecy nodded woodenly.

“When she is home feeling better, I'll call. I'm sure she'd love to join our embroidery circle.”

Cecilia barely nodded once more.

Mrs. Ward leaned close to Linc's ear in a flutter of ostrich feathers. “Tell Cecilia her aunt didn't receive a warm welcome in Boston.” The lady turned to her protégé. “Ann, I think we should go back to our table now. Archie will be joining us—Oh! There he is. There may be another engagement announced soon.” She tittered, then waved, returning to her table in a flurry of feathers and well-wishes.

Linc and Clarence took their seats. Fleur whispered, “Such a sweet lady, but she
does
talk so.” Clarence laughed out loud. “Hush,” Fleur hissed, “I declare you're embarrassing me.”

Linc glanced across at Cecy. Had she heard what the lady had said of her aunt? He caught Cecy staring wistfully at Fleur.

 

“Rats.” Cecy hit the leather dashboard of her runabout with both her hands. Around them the city hurried about its business under the clear April sky. Rain appeared imminent. “I could spit nails.”

Linc agreed, but grinned at her colorful phrase. “You know what's happening, don't you?”

“Someone warned them.” She turned to him. “Who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Edmonds.” She slapped the dashboard again.

“You win.” He should have warned her not to let her business advisor know the day she planned to begin her factory inspections. This was the second factory they'd visited. Both factories had resembled ghost towns. Edmonds obviously had decided Cecy couldn't expose anything, if nothing was in operation.

“What can we do?” She glanced sideways at him.

“You're the boss, lady,” he said wryly.

“That's right. I am.” She stared straight ahead. Flipping the start
er switch, she backed out into the traffic. “I'll go to the warehouse I remember seeing on another list.”

Linc frowned. “If we can't find any of your factories in operation today, maybe we should wait a day or two.”

“Not on your life. I won't put up with this.” She swept around a corner making two men jump back onto the curb. “If Edmonds bucks me any further, I'll fire him. I'll fire everyone and start fresh.”

He grinned. Many things about Cecilia had changed, but her determination to have her own way had not.
August P. Jackson, this is your daughter. Too bad you didn't value her as you should have. But perhaps God wants the strength you endowed her with for His glory
.

Within a few blocks, Cecy pulled up to one of many seedy warehouses along the South End district.

“Cecilia—”

“Linc, I really don't like that name.”

“You mean Cecilia?” He tried to gauge her mood.

“Yes, will you call me Cecy?” She lowered her chin.

“You mean like Millie does?”

“Yes, please. I've never liked my name. Cecy is who I've always thought of myself as.” Her voice sounded gentle like it did when she talked to Meg. Was she softening to him?

He turned toward her. “Why do you think that is, Cecy?”

“Cecy is…Cecy is separate from my father, from the Boston school, from my Aunt Amelia. Cecy is myself connected to Nana.”

“You still plan to call her Nana, not Millie?”

“Yes, she'll always be Nana. She's really the only one to successfully oppose my father.”

“How do you mean?”

“She protected me, shielded me from him. That was her victory.”

She prayed for you, too.
“You've thought deeply about this.”

“Everything I believed about my life before the night of Hunt's attack wasn't true. My aunt had fed me lies, so she'd have her revenge. But she failed.”

Thanks to God.

Cecy took off her goggles and untied her driving veil. “I'm going to have the life I want my way.”

Not God's way?
But he sensed this wasn't the time to speak of the possibility of God having a plan for her life. “What does that life include?”
Does it include me?

“I'm not completely sure yet. Right now I'm going to clean up my businesses and do what I can to learn to write well.”

“Good. But you aren't leaving open the door for love?” He couldn't have stopped himself from asking this question if he'd tried.

“Love.” She thrust open her car door and stepped outside with a decided swirl of her skirt. She faced forward, only giving him her profile.

Exiting the car, he bent forward resting his wrists on the top of the shining green door. He studied her as she struggled with this inner conflict.

Over her shoulder, she glanced at him, then threw her driving veil back over her hat. “You are my best friend, my first real friend in my whole life.” She leaned her hip against the car. “The other night I was thinking about what my life would have been like if I had been born lucky like Meg.” Her gaze connected with his again. “If I'd been loved and kept at home, not sent away, I think love could have been a part of my life.”

“You think it's impossible for you to love?” He could barely speak. His mouth was so dry.

“Linc, do you know what I felt when you asked if I couldn't leave the door open for love?”

“What?”

“Panic. The urge to run and not to stop running.”

He wanted to reach for her. He didn't move a fraction. “Love isn't always cruel, Cecy. Just because your mother—”

She pinned him with a ironic expression. “This is me, Cecy Jackson, we're talking about. What do I know of love? In all my life, only Nana and my mother loved me, but I lost them both when I was seven years old. Do you know what that feels like?”

How could such a lovely, young face look so desolate? He longed to comfort her, but forced himself to stay on his side of the car. “I've known loss. I lost my father and a son I never got to know.”

“And Virginia.”

He looked away and sucked in his breath. A faint echo of his guilt screeched like a circling seagull over the warehouse. “Virginia is with God. I am free to love again.”