Authors: Carolyn Thornton
"I'll have to tell you all about it on Monday. He's only
given me forty-five minutes to pack, and I don't want to keep him
waiting."
"I can see why," she answered. "Well, don't worry about
the shop. We'll keep everything under control."
"I never do worry with the two of you here," Lacey
answered, smiling.
"Somewhere along the way," Rafe said an hour later as they
drove along Highway 90 past the bright white sand on one side and the
lush pines and Southern mansions on the other, "I have to buy a wedding
present for this couple."
"Tell me about them and I'll help."
"I was with him in Vietnam. This is his second marriage. I
don't know anything about the girl. I can't even remember her name."
"Hm," Lacey said. "Has she been married before?"
"I don't think so."
"So chances are they've both been living on their own in
independent households for a while. That rules out a lot of stuff like
pots and pans. And we don't know what her tastes are, so you don't want
to get too specific guessing color schemes for the bedroom or bath."
Lacey asked him to give her a better description of his friend, but
that didn't help her much in deciding on the perfect gift.
They passed the Biloxi lighthouse sitting in the middle of
the road. Lacey always tried to picture it painted completely black as
it had been in honor of President Lincoln's death. Now it was all white
and landlocked.
"Why not get them something typically Mississippian,
something they can't find anywhere else?"
"Sounds good to me," Rafe agreed. "Like what?"
"We're going through Mobile, right?"
"You have to drive through Alabama to get to Florida, last
time I checked."
Lacey let his elementary driving lesson pass. "That means
we're going through Ocean Springs and Gautier and Pascagoula."
"Right."
"Have you ever been to the Singing River Pottery?"
"I don't think so," Rafe answered, slowing down as the
light ahead turned red.
"You would have remembered," Lacey assured him, turning in
her seat so that she could sit with her leg beneath her. "It's run by
Jose Gautier in her family home. She does all original ceramics from
handmade molds."
"What sorts of things does she make that we could pick out
for a wedding present?"
"She uses only things from her home, her yard and the
water as her inspiration," Lacey answered. "Magnolias and fish are her
specialty. You should see some of the dies she uses. Very realistic,
especially since she makes her molds from the real fish."
"I'm not convinced a cold fish would make a warm wedding
gift."
"That's just her specialty," Lacey argued, and continued
to describe the Gautiers' antique home to Rafe and some of the other
things she had seen Josie design. "Her designs have made her a very
famous Mississippi artist," Lacey told him. "Do you know the legend of
the Singing River?"
"I guess not," Rafe answered, starting the car forward as
the light changed to green.
"The legend says a princess of the fierce Biloxi tribe
fell in love with a young Pascagoulan chieftain, although she was
engaged to a chieftain of her own people," Lacey said. "The enraged
Biloxians declared war on the smaller tribe. Faced with the large
number of warriors the Pascagoulans were up against, victory was
hopeless. The tribe refused to separate the lovers, and they didn't
want to face subjection to the Biloxi tribe, so they chose death. All
the women and children and the braves joined hands, and chanting, they
all walked into the waters of the Pascagoula River. Supposedly on
late-summer evenings you can hear the sound of the chanting from the
waters."
"Is that so?"
Lacey shrugged. "I asked Josie about it one time when I
visited her, and she said she used to listen to it on moonlit nights.
She even wrote a song about it, putting in the part about the Indians
chanting and pleading for their lives, and then a rumbling to represent
the river singing. She said it sounds like a loud humming."
Rafe smiled. Legends and history, like romance, appealed
to him, even if he wouldn't admit it to Lacey. "Where is this place?"
"Not far off the main highway, just before we cross the
bridge over the bay."
"Do you think we can find something other than a fish for
a wedding present?"
"Sure," Lacey told him. "But don't rule out the fish.
They're beautiful. They make lovely wall plaques."
As they neared the Pascagoula bridge, Lacey gave Rafe
directions to the Gautier home set beneath twisted oaks and overlooking
the water from the bay. They walked across the screened-in porch and
into the entrance hall lined with shelves of some of Josie's smaller
creations, her shell jewelry, convention pins, miniature magnolias and
acorns.
Lacey let Rafe go ahead of her into Josie's living room,
where her larger works of ceramic art graced the walls and tables. A
piano with Josie's original sheet music sat at one end of the room with
several of her fish hanging from the wall. Shrimp, crab and
oyster-shell designs on serving trays and platters sat on the dining
table. All carried her trademark.
"The five waves of the trademark," the hostess explained,
"are the five lines of the musical staff. The waves represent how the
Singing River flows endlessly along. The treble clef is turned over to
make the S for the word 'singing' on the third wave, which is C in the
treble clef, and 'river' is written on the second wave, which is C in
the bass."
Lacey watched Rafe prowl around the room, assessing which
item would make the ideal wedding gift for his friend. As usual, he
wasn't revealing his reactions, but Lacey could tell his eye for beauty
was impressed by the talent revealed in Josie's works.
"What's this oyster shell for?" he asked, picking up a
large, lifelike ceramic piece.
"That's a duplicate of one of the shells that came off the
old Spanish fort in Pascagoula," the girl told him.
"It looks so real," Lacey said, standing next to Rafe,
"but I don't think that's the kind of wedding present you're looking
for."
"No," Rafe agreed, putting it down. "But it does look like
the real thing."
"Have you been to the fort?" the girl asked.
"No," Lacey and Rafe both answered.
"It's the oldest building in the lower Mississippi Valley,
built in 1718. They've made it into a museum," the girl said.
Lacey wished they had time to see it. Rafe would probably
enjoy it too, she decided, but she wasn't going to suggest it. This was
his weekend. She was just happy he wanted to have her along with him.
"I like this," Rafe said, picking out a nest of
mockingbirds, the three little ones being fed by the mother. One of the
three babies wasn't paying attention to the worm in the mother's mouth;
a minute ladybug on a nearby leaf appealed to him more.
Lacey browsed awhile longer while Rafe paid for his
purchase and waited for it to be gift-wrapped. Then they got back into
the car and continued on their drive to the Florida beach.
"We're staying at a relatively new resort," Rafe explained
as they passed the "Welcome to Florida" highway sign. "I imagine we'll
have some nice accommodations, since I'm going to be doing some
promotion for the place. I've dealt with this group of investors before
and they all travel first-class."
"Uhm," Lacey answered, feeling drowsy from the monotonous
motion of the car on the highway. "What's the name of this place?"
"Valhalla."
"I've heard of it," Lacey said, fully awake now as she sat
straighter in her seat.
"How?" Rafe asked, turning to look at Lacey and smile at
her as he drove.
"A friend used to take fishing trips into the Gulf, using
that as a base. May still do it for all I know."
And just my
luck
, she added to herself,
I'll find Dominick
sitting on the front steps of wherever it is we're staying. That would
be too much of a coincidence, wouldn't it
?
Not necessarily
, she answered
herself. It was a weekend, and still June, and that was one of the
months when Dominick always seemed to be especially restless and
feeling in need of his fishing escapades.
She would just forget she had ever known Dominick and
think instead of the wonderful weekend ahead that she would spend with
Rafe. They could go for long barefoot walks along the shore, maybe even
a midnight swim—without suits. They'd certainly be able to
get some good fresh seafood. Maybe she could talk him into cooking crab
or shrimp over an open fire on the sands, New England clambake-style.
"Do you know anything about windsurfing?" she asked.
"No."
"How about sailing a catamaran?"
"Does it come with a saddle?"
"No. How about an inflatable raft?"
"Is it Army-issue?"
Lacey giggled. "No."
"Then maybe not," he answered. "Why?"
"I just always wanted to learn how to windsurf, sail a cat
and spend my working days floating on a raft. You're so good at
everything else, I thought you might be the man to teach me."
He glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows. "I'm a
better teacher in other areas."
"I can't wait," Lacey said, her voice low and suggestive,
not ruling out the nights she'd spend in his arms again. "It seems like
months since I last saw you."
"It can't be," he answered. "We haven't known each other
that long."
Lacey laughed. "That's true, isn't it?"
"But it also seems like I've known you for years."
"I hope in the nicest possible way," Lacey answered.
"The best," Rafe replied, and reached out and patted her
knee.
Lacey slid lower in her seat, forgetting Dominick. She was
going to concentrate on Rafe this weekend, all of him, from the
ticklish place behind his ears to the bottoms of his feet. They could
lie out in the sun all day and bake, then splash in the water when it
got too hot. She'd let him spread suntan oil over every inch of her
skin.
Lacey scratched his arm, imagining his hands on her bare
skin, spreading slowly, sensuously in circles. He knew so well how to
make her quiver. All it took was his touch.
The drive seemed endless, especially as they passed
through Ft. Walton and the afternoon grew later. The traffic picked up
as everyone headed out of town for the weekend. Lacey wondered where
people who lived at the beach went to escape at Friday's end. One could
get too much of a good thing. She looked across at Rafe and wondered if
she would ever feel she had had enough of him.
He kept her guessing, changing directions in midstream.
But when he said "follow", she had confidence in him. Even if he were
leading her into the unknown, she had no doubt he'd somehow manage to
cope with whatever situation might arise. She sat up straighter as she
realized that was a confidence she had never felt with Dominick. Even
with Dominick's expertise, she had always tried to check up on him to
see if he needed her help. Dominick was the kind of man who needed a
keeper. For a while she had been that keeper, but it was a role she no
longer missed.
Lacey glanced across at Rafe, who was concentrating on the
car slowing down and speeding up with the traffic flow ahead of them.
Rafe didn't need a keeper. He knew who he was and what he wanted out of
life; and he had enough confidence in himself to know he could get it.
He also knew he wouldn't have to rely on anyone's crutch to help him
get where he wanted to be. Lacey admired that, even if it meant he
didn't need anyone—her— to be by his side along the
way.
"I'm glad you brought me along," she said to him.
"I'm glad you came with me," he answered.
Lacey bit her cheek. That was an okay answer, coming from
Rafe. She would have preferred to hear something more like "There isn't
anyone else I'd rather be with" or "I wouldn't have wanted to go if you
couldn't come with me". She had to learn to settle for what she got
when it came to Rafe Chancellor. He could probably outsilence the
sphinx.
The condominium assigned to Rafe was located within
surf-sound of the shore. A full wall of windows and sliding glass doors
looked out on the horizon, catching the shore in a curve from the
angled position of the dwelling. Deep pile carpet in a sandy-cream
color felt softer than summer grass to Lacey as she kicked off her
sandals at the door and crossed the living room.
Comfortable sectional couches interspersed with tables and
treelike plants complemented the room. Lacey took time to study the
framed original works of art hanging on the cream-colored walls. "I
could live here," she announced, turning to check out the dining L off
the full kitchen.
She pulled open drawers and opened cabinets. The apartment
was fully stocked, from a can opener to plastic liners for the
trashcan. An oversized ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sat in the
middle of the kitchen table. Glasses were within reach. "Do you always
get the special treatment, like this champagne?" Lacey asked when Rafe
entered the kitchen after carrying all the luggage into the bedroom.
"Of course," he said, and smiled, because he was as
surprised and pleased by the champagne as she obviously was.
"Oh," Lacey said, and turning, put her arms around his
neck and hugged him. "I should have guessed. You are the type deserving
of special attention." She pressed her body against his and let him
kiss her.
"Would you like to see what the bedrooms look like?"
"Bedrooms?" she asked, putting extra emphasis on the
plural.
He nodded. "This is a three-bedroom unit, one and a half
baths."
"Does that mean we're going to be using more than one
bedroom?" she asked.
"We probably don't want to put too many wear spots in any
one place," Rafe said. "You see, if we get tired of the lumps in the
first bed, or if it's too hard, we can check out the second room. But I
don't think you'll like it. I don't. It has twin beds. But if we shoved
them together, kind of up against the wall, and rearranged the
furniture in there, it might not be too bad. But the crack between the
two beds might not be too comfortable for one of us—and it
won't be me. Besides, who wants to move furniture around when you're
having a romantic weekend?"