What she could
not avoid thinking was how beautiful he was.
She remembered his face when she had cleaned away the blood.
She had thought so then, but now she was
amazed by what these pictures revealed.
It was not only his features, but the depth of his eyes and the strength
of his jaw, together with his extraordinary coloring, that made his the sort of
face a woman would want to touch.
She pulled
herself up sharply.
What was happening
to her?
Had she become obsessed with a
face in a photograph?
She carefully
closed the magazine and placed it in the drawer of the table by the
window.
Bad enough that she still had
dreams of his eyes gazing up at her, his palm laid against her cheek, she was
not about to let herself sit around fantasizing over pictures of a man she
would never meet again.
Surely she was
too sensible to indulge in such ridiculous daydreams when her life was so full
now of what she wanted most.
She went out
the front door, walked deliberately across the yard to the fence and turned to
look back at the house.
The night was
clear, with only a sliver of a moon.
The
windows of her home were glowing with lamplight.
She could see the familiar furnishings
through the open draperies.
This was
what she had longed for.
Home.
A place where she could be her best self, live
her best life.
She breathed deeply of
the warm night air, heavy with the scents of waning summer.
Whatever meaning she might attach to the time
she had spent watching over an injured stranger, it had nothing to do with the
life she had promised herself here.
Was
she imagining herself in love with him because she had no one else with whom to
share that life?
Surely she was too much
of a realist to waste time on such fantasy.
She gave
herself a stern lecture, leaning on the wooden fence rail, gazing at the house
outlined against the night sky.
There
would be other times when she would be reminded of Stani Moss, other pictures,
music over the radio, news of his successes.
But to go into an emotional tailspin at the sight of his face on a
magazine cover was doing herself a disservice.
She would do better, she promised, at burying her memories, or at least
hiding her feelings.
It would never do
to let anyone see how attached she had become to what amounted to a ghost.
She went back into the house, determined to
put Stani Moss out of her mind, at least until the next time someone mentioned
his name or thrust his picture in her face without warning.
Chapter Twenty-eight
James McConnell
was home, and Jack suggested she ask him to act as a caretaker for the farm
while she was at school.
He had taken a
part-time job at the hardware store in town and Jack was finding odd jobs for
him to do, trying to help him get out in the community more.
James, once outgoing and ambitious, seemed to
lack the motivation to get on with his life.
He was quiet, often brooding, and no one seemed able to draw him out of
himself.
When Emily invited him to come
out and look over the work to be done, she was shocked at how gaunt and
hollow-eyed he'd become.
But he still had
a grin for her, and they talked at length about her plans for the farm and her
career as a nurse.
“You're a brave
girl, Em, but then you always were.
You
never backed down, no matter what came at you.
How come no guy's been able to get your attention?
I'm sure some have tried.”
“Not
interested.
No likely candidates
anyway.
Who'd want to come back here and
work the garden with me?
What about you,
no one special?”
She recalled there had
been a girlfriend when James first went into the army.
“No one, period.
I've got to find myself first.
I seem to have gotten off track, don't know
what I want to do now.
I thought about
the Peace Corps, and I might still try that.
Meantime, there's enough to do around here.
Sheriff Deem lets me know if folks need help,
you know, older folks who can't manage like they used to.
I like that kind of work, outdoors, on my
own.”
“I know what
you mean.
There's nothing like working
the land, just being out in the sun and the wind.
I've always loved it.
It's healing, James.
You'll find yourself out here, I know.
Just keep believing.”
He stared off
beyond the fields, as if watching for something.
“That's tough sometimes.
Where is God in the hard places, when people
are hurting each other for no good reason?
When you see men die, or worse, and no one back here seems to notice,
you start to wonder if God's on vacation, or just gone off in disgust.
I know my dad would hate me saying that, but
I have to figure it out for myself.
You
still believe, like you used to, that God is with you every step of the
way?”
They had talked for hours on end,
that year when Emily lived in the parsonage and James was going off to war, but
she was amazed that he remembered her theology after so long.
“Yes, I
do.
I never doubt it.
He's done so much to prove it to me,
James.
I know you've seen things most of
us will never have to, but God hasn't let you down.
Maybe some people have, but not God.
I think sometimes he's very quiet, waiting
until we're ready to listen to him.
Sometimes when I pray, he leaves me to figure out the answer on my
own.
But he's there, even in the hard
places.
Especially
in the hard
places.”
He smiled, just
the slightest acknowledgment.
“I'll
remember that, next time I wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night.
You're good to talk to, Em.
Calm.
Thanks.
And don't worry about
your farm, I'll take good care of things for you.
I know you'd never forgive me if I didn't.”
With a wave of
her hand, she indicated that he should follow her to the barn.
“There's one more thing I need you to take
care of, or two, actually.”
Turning, she
sang out, “Cliff!
Cat!
Here kitties!
There someone I want you to meet.”
From the empty
stall that overlooked the paddock, first one and then another gray tabby kitten
leapt over the half-open door.
When they
caught sight of the tall, dark haired stranger, they paused and one arched its
back, puffing its tail warily.
“Oh, don't be
so silly, Cliff.
This is James and if
you behave yourself, he'll see that you get a nice meal every day or two.”
Emily bent down and scooped up the other
kitten.
“This is Cat, Catherine
actually, and that rude young man there is Heathcliff.
They're five months old and I hope they're
well enough settled here to stay around if there's food.
Jack thinks to feed them every two or three
days will be enough.
They're supposed to
be keeping away the mice, so he says we shouldn't keep them too well-fed.
But I'll warn you, they probably prefer milk
and tuna to mouse-meat.
I've spoiled
them, I know, but aren't they sweet?”
James scratched
the kitten under its chin, rewarded with a loud purr for his effort.
“Cats.
He didn't tell me there'd be cats in the bargain.
I like cats, always have.
They don't expect much, other than food, and
they take care of themselves.
Come here,
vicious.”
He held out a hand to the
still cautious Heathcliff and then gently lifted him by the scruff of his
neck.
“We'll do fine, won't we,
Cliff?
Although why your mistress here
thought you looked like a brooding romantic hero, I've no idea.”
Emily
laughed.
“I had to name them
something.
I'm relieved to hear you like
cats, though.
I hated to think they'd go
unloved while I'm away.”
“Don't
worry.
They'll give me something to
think about besides myself.
Funny, how
you can start out believing you're doing this noble thing and end up knowing
you just hurt a lot of people.
It's easy
to beat up on myself, I guess.
But I
know I have to stop sometime.
Helping
other people,” he paused to look down at the kitten, now curled against his
chest, “or other
things
, I guess,
does seem to help.”
Emily thought
about what James had said, as she sat eating her dinner, watching the sun begin
its slow descent behind the hills.
In
the midst of his suffering, he was reaching out to help others, and drawing
comfort from this peaceful place.
Perhaps her unforeseen venture into nursing would help her move past
this feeling of having lost something she'd never really had.
Maybe taking care of lots of patients would
blur the memory of that first one, although she reserved the right to consider
him more than just a patient.
He had
been part of a miracle, even if she couldn't understand just what part he had
played.
Time, she reminded herself,
would bring things into better perspective, just as for James time would help
bring his future into focus.
They had
time, each of them, even though as they had talked today she had felt they were
two old souls, who had already seen more of life than they might have wished.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The best thing
about being at the University, other than the fact that she loved the rigorous
pace of nurse's training, was being near Salvatore's Ristorante.
Not only did she benefit from endless free
meals, but after some gentle persuasion she was allowed in the kitchen.
Emily had been cooking since before she could
reach the kitchen counter tops, and already had a wide knowledge and
appreciation of food.
But now, she told
Sal, she could learn at the side of a master; and she proved herself an apt
pupil.
Before long, she was given her
own white jacket; and whenever her schedule allowed, she was considered part of
the staff.
Her particular
interest was pastry; and she found an excellent teacher in Joey, who had been
to New York briefly to study with his uncle, the head pastry chef of a big
hotel restaurant.
Joey was a carbon copy
of his short, broad father but with a much mellower disposition.
Always friends, now Emily and Joey were
united in the joy of mixing and kneading dough, crafting pastries that both
looked and tasted like works of genius.
As
they worked side by side, savoring the heavenly scents that filled the air around
the big brick oven, they laughed and joked, or at times talked seriously of the
things that concerned them both, gaining and maintaining their
independence.
Joey fully understood
Emily's desire to be self-sustaining.
While he appreciated the value of his position in his father's business,
he longed to be out on his own, another generation of Salvatore's, somewhere
far away from his volatile parent.
Being so much
in the company of her godmother's family, Emily found their habitual wrangling
no longer disturbed her.
Instead she
learned to laugh at and with them, even occasionally joining in the
never-ending debate.
Here was a passion
so unlike anything she'd known with her own family, yet she understood that the
love and respect they shared was deep and binding.
While Lil was
still away at school, when she could get home on the weekend she often joined
Emily in her tiny studio apartment, where she said the quiet was like a
soothing symphony of silence. Emily resisted the urge to point out that Lil contributed
as much noise as anyone else at home.
She loved Lil, loved her quirky outlook on life and the way she found
something exciting in everything she did.
They became shopping partners, plotting their sweep through the shops
and coming home to triumphantly display their bargain hunting bounty.
They laughingly played along with clerks who
mistook them for sisters and suggested they could share their clothes.
While both were dark haired and slim, Emily
was almost five inches taller than the tiny Lil, with eyes as pale as Lil's
were dark.
They were a striking pair,
laughing and talking vivaciously together; and more than once they were
approached by boys who were lured by the prospects of two such attractive
conquests.
In a matter of minutes, the girls
had cast them off with a double blast of icy disdain.
Lil was no more interested in a relationship
with a man than Emily, although her reasons differed slightly.
For Lil, only a musician whose talent equaled
or exceeded her own would be considered worth her time.
Emily joked that before a boy asked her for a
date, he would have to audition.