Authors: Gloria Repp
Too soon, he put down the lute and picked up his guitar. Bluegrass, blues, backwoods ballads, he played them all, and finished with a haunting melody of his own. The last notes faded into silence, and Madeleine sighed.
The crowd clapped and yelled and surged toward the stage.
Nathan said, “He told me to come up and talk, but maybe we’ll just slip out. Unless you’d like a hot dog? They’re only a dollar.”
She didn’t shudder visibly, she was sure of it, but he said, “In that case, let’s go.”
As they walked to his Jeep, she said, “We have pineapple zucchini bread, if you feel like a snack.”
“My zucchini reinvented?”
“I hope it tastes better than the last time you saw it.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I will do a careful analysis and give you my report.”
The drive back didn’t seem to take long, and even after they’d reached the Manor, the melodies she’d heard rippled through her mind. She sliced the bread and poured their milk, conscious of his gaze upon her, and something about it suggested that the evening wasn’t over yet.
“This looks good,” he said, “especially with the pineapple. Why don’t we take it upstairs to that library your aunt showed me?”
She smiled. “The stars will be out.”
The stars were brilliant above the dark forest, and they sat facing each other on the window seat as they ate and talked.
He set his empty plate aside. “Looks like you’ve got some old books here.”
She joined him at the shelves, curious to see what he’d take down. He chose
Tracks of North American Mammals,
paged through it, and set it back on the shelf.
He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. “I was dreading this evening,” he said. “But you have made it a celebration.”
He drew her into his arms, and she went to him with gladness. This time would be different.
Once more he kissed her face, but slowly, lingering along the way. Her forehead, her eyebrows, the lobe of her ear. Her chin.
His lips touched hers.
She choked. Nausea grabbed at her throat and panic thudded through her veins and her heart was going to explode and she had to fight. Fight him off. She beat at his chest—make him go away.
“Mollie!”
She was drifting, drifting off to her safe place. From there she could watch what happened and nothing would ever hurt again.
Gentle hands on her shoulders. A warm voice. “Mollie, breathe.”
Was it safe? She tried a quick, short breath.
“Big breaths, big and deep, remember?”
She breathed, trembling with the effort. Breathing was good. Stay here, breathe and stay safe.
“Mollie, open your eyes.”
She whimpered, but she left the safe place and risked it.
“Look at me,” he said. “Look at my eyes.”
Gray eyes. Kind gray eyes.
“Who is this, Mollie?”
She closed her eyes.
“Mollie. Open your eyes. Such beautiful eyes—fire and ice.”
She had to open them. This wasn’t Brenn.
“Look at me,” he said again. “Say my name.”
She forced her lips to move. “Nathan.” She held onto him, still shaking. “Nathan.”
Not again, Lord! I thought You had delivered me.
After a minute he said, “Better?”
She nodded into his shoulder.
“I hate this for you, Mollie.”
And she hated it for him. He shouldn’t have to deal with the results of her foolish choice. She had to make him see that.
She brushed back a stray wisp of hair. He had a life of ministry ahead, and he didn’t need someone like her to slow him down.
She would tell him, but first . . . She reached up to touch his face, one last time—the weathered skin, the smile creases, the eyes she loved to watch. Her fingers paused on the burn scar. He was free of guilt now, and he should be free of her.
Lord my Rock, make me strong for this moment
.
She took a step backwards and firmed her voice. “It’s no use, Nathan. I’m damaged goods. Let me go.”
His eyes were shining. Hadn’t he heard? He was moving to her side.
He picked up her hand, turned it over, and wrapped it with his own. “I would rather say this with moonlight and roses, but you need to know it now.”
His gaze rested upon her, luminous and solemn. “I love you, Madeleine Dumont.”
She took a quick, nervous breath, and filed away the precious words to think about later—not now, because her resolve was crumbling.
He’d used her maiden name, as if she were still that other person. A whole woman. He didn’t realize that she’d always be broken, the wife of Brenn.
He didn’t need to know what Brenn had done, but he had to understand that she wasn’t worth his time.
She started to shake her head, and he said, “Come and sit down. I’ve got something to tell you.”
On the couch she sat a careful distance away, but he moved himself close, as if he didn’t want a single inch between them. “When I went to Philly, I talked to someone about your case—”
“—My case?”
“Yes, I described—”
“—You described the patient’s symptoms to your colleague and the two of you decided on a course of therapy and . . . and now you’re going to—”
“—Mollie! This isn’t your fault. You need help.”
“How do you know it’s not my fault? He said I provoked him.”
“He lied.”
“I can be very provoking. You don’t know me.”
“Yes I do,” he said. “Connie’s pink sunglasses. I watched, and I saw your heart.”
“But that was before . . .”
“You’re still who you are, Mollie. And whether I get to kiss you or not is beside the point.”
“Is it?”
Her hair, secured only by pins, had started to come down, and he looped a strand of it behind her ear. “My friend said that with patience—”
“—Right, be kind to the poor addled girl, and patient. You’re good at that already. I won’t have you hanging around for the next couple of months or years being kind. Hoping that maybe the next time you try to kiss me I won’t fall apart. I told you, I’m tarnished.”
“Mollie,” he said, “I love you.”
She had to stop him. She couldn’t let him delude himself.
She put out a hand blindly, encountered his knee, and snatched it back. “Listen to me. You’ve had enough heartache already. You need a nice sturdy girl with no hang-ups. Take one of those back to Alaska and get on with your life.”
Surprise flickered across his face. “What makes you think I’m going back to Alaska?”
“I know it. The Lord has a ministry for you there. I’ll get over my little problem eventually, or maybe I won’t. That’s in the Lord’s hands. But I will manage just fine.”
“You’ll be fine without me?” His voice went ragged. “Is it true?”
Pain welled up from the hollows of her bones.
Don’t ask me that.
She turned, intending to say something kind and pacifying, but misery drove her to clutch his arm. “Don’t you understand? He’ll always be there, between us. What he did has changed me, and I don’t know how to change back, and every time we . . . I can never . . .” She bowed her head. “You deserve a whole woman.”
Silence. She tried to breathe.
After a moment he said, “I understand what you’re telling me. If necessary, I can live with that. But I love you, Mollie. There is a future for us. Don’t send me away.”
She closed her eyes.
Don’t waste your time
. That’s what she should say, right now.
As if she had spoken aloud, he said, “This is worth fighting for. Someone told me that once and encouraged me to fight.”
He took the pins out of her hair, one by one, and buried his face in the tangle. “I won’t kiss you again until you’re ready. Not until you come to me and ask.”
He paused, his voice rimmed with steel. “But we will fight this together, and the Lord will show us how, and we will win.”
She didn’t deserve this man: so loving, so determined.
Elevenses. Tea in the middle of the morning was a British tradition, wasn’t it? The girl must have read about it somewhere.
Madeleine turned into the driveway, and her hopes rose. The brown truck was gone. Perhaps this time they could sit and talk without having to make a wild dash through the woods.
Tara appeared behind the sagging screens of the porch but didn’t come any farther. Grounded again? She waved vigorously, and as Madeleine waved back, heading for the porch, she tripped over something in the weeds. It looked like the frame of a car, long and low with four humps, solid enough that she wished she’d noticed it.
Tara grabbed her for another hug. “I’m not allowed to go one foot out of the house,” she said. “I’m so glad you came.” She leaned back and laughed. “I’ve crunched the cookies again, haven’t I? Is that what you brought?”
“I didn’t know how many you got to eat from the last batch.”
“Right. Uncle Sid thought they were for him. That got Dixie plinkin’ mad, I can tell you. She tried to make some herself, but they turned out like rocks. C’mon.”
She took Madeleine’s arm and guided her through a cluttered front room to the kitchen. Aunt Dixie must like yellow. Her kitchen had yellow walls, yellow cupboards, and a yellow-painted floor—a dingy yellow, mottled with fly specks and food stains. Even the trash can was yellow.
Tara pulled out a yellow plastic chair. “Sit down, and I’ll make tea and we’ll do our elevenses proper.”
She gave Madeleine a worried glance. “I have tuna sandwiches instead of those cookie-biscuits. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Madeleine said. “Much more interesting.”
Tara set the kettle to boil and took a covered plate from the cupboard. “Here we are, safe and sound. Tell me how Mac is doing. And Jude, and everybody.”
Before Madeleine could answer, she held up a hand. “Wait! I need to explain something. About my name.” She sighed. “My mother named me Salome Tara—she liked pretty names—but my dad called me Sally. These people do too, but in my heart, I’m Tara.”
Madeleine smiled. “I understand.” So the girl hadn’t been lying about her name. What about the pendant?
Tara arranged Madeleine’s cookies and the sandwiches on plates, sat down across from Madeleine, and said gravely, “You may ask the blessing.”
After Madeleine finished, Tara unwrapped her sandwich, saying, “I hate to tell you, but Uncle Sid is out in the woods somewhere, drunk as a coon.”
She frowned. “He’s, um, different when he’s drunk. If he comes in while you’re here, don’t let him get you into an argument. Just smile—he likes you—and agree with him. Then he’ll go away.”
Madeleine nodded. Perhaps they wouldn’t get their quiet talk after all. She took a bite of her sandwich. “This is tasty,” she said. “What’s in with the tuna?”
“Pickle relish. And peppermint. I grow it in a pot next to my hideout. How’s Mac doing?”
Madeleine told her everything she could think of about the cat. Then, since they might not have much time, she told her what Jude had said about the pendant.
Tara’s eyes flashed. “But it’s mine! My dad gave it to my mother, and she loved it—she wore it all the time. After she died, I went looking for, it but Dixie said she was going to keep it. For luck.”
“For luck?”
“Because of the tree.” Tara sniffed. “She doesn’t even know what it means. I looked it up on the computer at school. It’s a Celtic symbol for harmony in the universe.”
She chewed on the last of her sandwich. “Dixie kept it hidden because something about it spooked Uncle Sid, and when I left, I took it. It’s mine.”
What would Jude think of all this?
“Does your aunt know you took it?” Madeleine asked.
“She hit me a couple times, but I wouldn’t admit it, so she can’t be sure. I think she’s forgotten. Can we have cookies now? Would you care for tea, my lady?”
“I’d be delighted.”
A door slammed, somewhere behind the kitchen, and the light went out of Tara’s eyes. A minute later, her uncle stood in the doorway.
“Smile,” she said in a low voice.
He held onto the doorjamb. “Hello, hello! It’s the pretty girl again. Did you bring cookies?”
Madeleine smiled. “I did. Would you like one?”
“Not now. Thought you’d come back so I could fix your car.”