A Gentle Fragrance Read online

  Women dressed in boyish, drab dresses with their hair cut in bobs or piled in strange shapes on their heads and wearing outlandish hats, eyed Sarah with looks ranging from horror to curiosity to outrage. Sarah looked down at her sarong and unadorned loose hair. She did not fit in with these people.

  Bill must have arrived at the same conclusion, for he immediately herded her to one of many similar buildings that lined the streets, putting her under the care of an elderly lady who hemmed and hawed throughout most of what she called a fitting. Within hours, Sarah was outfitted in a shapeless dress as drab as the rest of them she’d seen. She endured the changes for Bill, hoping he would then look at her with approval, hoping he would look at her at all.

  He did look at her, but not in delight. Rather his eyes were sad. Trying to see what he did, she lowered her gaze to the calf-length, gray-checked chemise with its low waistline, and the thick braid hanging past her stomach that she’d allowed the lady to weave when Sarah would not let her pile it atop her head.

  “We need to catch the train in an hour. Are you ready?” Bill’s voice was somber, distant.

  Sarah inwardly sighed. “Yes.” Was she? If he did not accept her or approve of her appearance, how then did she expect his people to?

  The huge expanse of Pennsylvania Station with its many levels of stairs overwhelmed Sarah. She did not resist clutching Bill’s arm this time, fearing she might lose him in the crowds of people swarming all around her.

  Only when they were safely sheltered within a compartment on a train did Sarah allow herself the pleasure of relaxing. She had never been on a train either, but she was so tired, and she closed her eyes.

  ❧

  Bill watched Sarah as she slept. Her face lacked the color it had held on the island, her posture was weary, and Bill’s heart constricted that he’d had to bow to the dictates of society and clothe her in a dress that seemed entirely inappropriate for his free-spirited Sarah. He’d been annoyed by the looks cast her way from snobbish women who’d crossed their path and had hoped to alleviate the problem with a portion of the money Josiah had given him for the journey. Yet the obnoxious ogling continued, and he knew Sarah must have felt their silent barbs. For himself, he didn’t care. He’d had worse stares thrown his way. But for Sarah, he desired her happiness and comfort.

  Since that night of heaven, when he and Sarah had become one, Bill had run the gamut of emotions. His love and desire to protect had intensified, but at the same time, when he’d awoken to see his beautiful Sarah lying beside him, oppressive anguish tore at his soul. Self-bitterness raged through him that he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability and allowed his own weakness, his strong desire to be with her, to overtake his objective.

  Bill had never known love. Not from his parents, not from his associates, not from former girlfriends, of which there’d been a number. Yet those painted floozies with their selfish ambitions couldn’t hold a candle to Sarah. For the first time, Bill knew what it was to love, and he desperately wanted her love in return.

  Maybe if Sarah had told him she loved him after he’d whispered to her his own adoration as she lay within his arms, he’d feel differently. Maybe if she’d shown any emotion on her face the next morning when he’d bolstered enough courage to reenter their cabin. But she hadn’t. Instead she regarded him, her face as placid as always, her eyes blank.

  And that look had blasted his heart as surely as if she’d pulled the trigger of a gun.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to rest. The next few hours of their uncertain future were trying enough without dredging up the recent past. That Brent would be surprised to see his long-lost brother was a given. Hopefully surprise would be the only negative reaction, and there would be a welcome. Bill had been given no opportunity to write a letter announcing their arrival, no method by which to send it, and even if he had, he didn’t know the address of the reform school.

  Reform school. He let out a derisive chuckle. For the past twelve years, he’d done his best to evade the police, and now he was bringing his new wife with him to a place that most likely contained bars on the windows.

  But Vittorio was still out there, he and the rest of his mobsters. And until Bill was far away from Manhattan, he wouldn’t feel safe. A small town near Ithaca seemed like the perfect solution.

  ❧

  Once they exited the train, Sarah stood with Bill on the wooden platform. He carried her canvas bag and looked around the area, his features rigid. Clutching her father’s cross to her heart for reassurance, she also studied the town. Here the buildings were much smaller, not so tall, and she counted only one automobile puttering along the street. A red- and white-striped pole stood nearby. On the window next to it, the words Barber Shop were painted in white.

  Bill also stared in that direction and swept a hand over the back of his hair. “I guess if I want to make a good impression with my brother, I’d better get a trim. I let it grow good and wild on the island.” He looked at Sarah, as if suddenly unsure what to do with her. “There’s a shop you can visit next door. Why don’t you wait for me there? A barber shop isn’t a place for ladies.”

  Sarah nodded, taking comfort in the fact that he would be in the building beside her. This place was much quieter than the city in which the ship had docked, but she still felt in limbo in this strange new world.

  They parted at the doorway. Sarah’s heart went weak when the expression in Bill’s eyes softened for an instant, and he smiled. “I’ll only be next door.”

  She watched as he disappeared into the barbershop. Her interest to explore revived, and she turned to see what this building contained. The room into which Sarah walked seemed dark after just coming out of bright sunlight. The area smelled of coffee and tobacco. Other scents tantalized—unusual but appealing scents—and she approached the wooden counter. An array of jars filled with mixtures of all shapes and colors heightened her curiosity.

  “That horehound candy is especially nice, though I prefer fresh peaches and plums meself,” a friendly but strange-sounding voice observed from behind her. The accent was unusual, unlike any Sarah had heard. She turned around to see a woman of about the same height as herself, with a flowered hat rakishly perched atop her piled-up hair. Her eyes, the color of indigo blue waters, sparkled with mischief and fun. Sarah felt a pang of homesickness as she was reminded of her father and his penchant for joviality. A baby lay nestled against the woman’s shoulder.

  The woman held out a hand. “Me name’s Darcy. And you are?”

  “Sarah.” She could barely speak, for as the child yawned and opened his eyes, she saw the same turquoise blue as her husband’s. A closer examination of the little round face made her catch a swift breath. This child could be her husband’s! He looked like a small copy of Bill.

  “Are you all right, luv?” Darcy asked in concern. Her dark brows raised in confusion, she looked at the golden-haired boy then at Sarah again.

  Sarah strived for composure. “Yes. It’s just that—”

  The door suddenly opened, and in walked Bill. Sarah blinked. No, not Bill. This man wore different clothing, and he held a child of the same age. . .identical to the one the woman Darcy held. The same in age and size, at least, though the child he held was a girl. Sarah looked back and forth between the two, then up into the man’s face. The same turquoise-colored eyes, same long nose and high cheekbones. Only upon looking more intently could she tell his unshaven jaw wasn’t quite as strong and defined as Bill’s without his beard, his brows weren’t as thick, his hair wasn’t as long. Except for those small differences, they could be the same person.

  Sarah swallowed and clutched the cross more tightly, feeling dizzy. For as she looked from face to face, she realized this must be her husband’s family. Remembering snippets of conversation Bill had shared with her, she knew this must be the brother with whom Bill had been estranged for quite some time.

  The door opened again. Bill stepped inside. “Barbershop’s full. Too many people in line for me t
o wait around, and—” He cut off abruptly, halting his advance, as his image holding the child swung to face him.

  Stunned silence crackled the air between them.

  “Brent.” Bill’s word came out taut as he gave a slight nod.

  “Bill. . .” The man holding the child blinked, then shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Though the fact that you still exhibit a tendency for impatience doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

  “Yeah, well, you know I never was one to bide my time well.” Bill’s words were casual, but Sarah could tell he was nervous. He looked at her, then moved her way. “And this is Sarah. My wife.” His hand went to her back, and she was grateful for his support. Without it, she might have fallen in a dead faint. The blood seemed to surge from her head.

  Bill’s brother stared at her, his eyes wide in shock. After another set of tense seconds elapsed, Darcy glanced at him curiously, then stepped forward with a smile. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you I’d like you, Sarah. You’re an odd duck like meself, so we’re a matched set. Welcome to the family.” She gave her a quick one-armed embrace.

  Sarah blinked. Bill stared. Brent gawked.

  “Well now!” Darcy spoke again, her voice high and chipper as if to lighten the situation. She shifted the child to her other shoulder. “I think we should move this little reunion to Lyons’ Refuge where it belongs. What d’ye say, guv’ner?” She looped her hand around Brent’s forearm, moving closer to him.

  He visibly relaxed, glanced at her, then back at Bill. “Before I agree, I feel it my duty to ask: Will we be expecting only the two of you? Or will the cops and robbers be beating a path to our door as well?”

  Darcy laughed nervously. Sarah could see a bald little man had taken a stand behind the counter and listened with rapt attention. He slowly rubbed a cloth over some tins on a shelf, his widened eyes fixed on the group in front of him.

  Bill’s mouth quirked in a parody of a smile. “Well, little brother, I see you’ve found the quality of humor somewhere inside that intelligent brain of yours, after all.” He softly snorted and gave a faint shake of his head as if in self-mockery. “And yes, it will be just the two of us.”

  Brent gave a curt nod. “In that case, you’re welcome to visit. The wagon is outside. Come along, Darcy.” He turned without waiting for Bill’s reply.

  Darcy gave an uncertain smile and followed. Sarah threw a sharp glance at Bill. His answering nod reassured, but now she wondered if these people would ever accept them as members of their household.

  Eight

  That had not gone well.

  Blowing out a heavy breath, Bill sat with Sarah in the back of the wagon that took them to Lyons’ Refuge. All his plans to confidently approach Brent—clean-shaven, hair neatly trimmed, and clad in a decent suit of clothes—had failed. The shirt he wore was Josiah’s, given to him after the remnants of his own shirt were thrown out. He had needed to wear it unbuttoned on the island since the man was slighter in build. But once they reached New York, Bill had forced the buttons through the holes, though the material strained across his shoulders and made movement difficult. And his trousers were frayed at the ends.

  He supposed he should have purchased a suit of clothes while he waited on Sarah, but he didn’t feel confident showing his face around the area on the chance someone might recognize him. On second thought, that chance was slim. A growth of beard covered his face, and his hair hung almost to his shoulders. He looked like what he was—a former castaway of a Pacific island. Not the impression he’d wanted to make on his brother as a man who’d renounced his corrupt behavior.

  Sarah, on the other hand, looked wonderful. She may not completely have conformed to protocol concerning dress, but Bill wouldn’t have her any other way. He loved her long hair and was glad she hadn’t cut it in a bob or stuck it up in some ridiculous bouffant that some women seemed to favor nowadays. And those hats were absurd. His gaze went to the bobbing flower on top of Darcy’s wide-brimmed number. He couldn’t say much for his sister-in-law’s taste in clothing, but he liked the character she’d shown, more so when she made Sarah feel so welcome. And Brent was a father, too! Amazing. . .

  Glimpses of the fair-headed twins on either side of Darcy’s lap put a lump in his throat. For the first time in his life, Bill wondered what it would be like to be a father.

  His gaze went to Sarah, and his heart lurched. She stared at him, anxiety in her eyes. He gave her a faint smile, but instead of responding, she looked down at her lap as though ashamed. Or disappointed. In him?

  Bill flicked his eyes closed and averted his gaze to the back of the wagon and the rows of trees in full summer bloom on each side of the dirt lane. Somehow, he would capture her love and respect; there must be a way.

  When the wagon reached Lyons’ Refuge, as the sign outside the gate said, Bill stared in shock. No bars blocked the windows. No policemen strolled the grounds. What kind of place was this?

  A large stone-and-wood house, simple and homey, stood on several acres of well-kept lawn. Beyond that stretched open land, and the only fences in evidence appeared to be those that kept livestock without and not criminals within. Bill spotted a few horses and cows. He could actually get to like it here. . . .

  A chorus of boys’ cries disrupted the peace as a small mob of miniature hooligans descended upon the wagon. Bill counted eight of them. Sarah’s eyes widened.

  “Master Brent, Master Brent,” one of the smallest cried. “Herbert set a fire in the schoolroom and burneded the papers.”

  “Didn’t mean to!” A redheaded, freckle-faced boy shot back. “It was an accident when I lit the stove.”

  “Unh-uh. You was mad.”

  “Boys!” Brent’s roar silenced them. “That’s better. We shall discuss this further when we meet in an hour at the schoolroom, which I assume is still standing.”

  “Mr. Lyons put the fire out like this.” The first boy clutched the wagon and stamped his foot up and down. “He had to stomp on it like an Injun.”

  “I am pleased to hear of the rescue of the schoolhouse, Jimmy. Now, you boys may resume your chores.”

  By this time, most of them had taken notice of Sarah and Bill in the back of the wagon. Their eyes grew so large that Bill could see the whites of them.

  “Go on with you,” Darcy said. “You heard Mr. Thomas.”

  They scattered like field mice.

  Inside the large house, a second round of people, mostly adults, converged upon the newcomers. Bill felt overwhelmed; he could well imagine how Sarah must be feeling.

  “Is there somewhere my wife could rest?” he asked in an aside to Charleigh Lyons, a plump redhead with a benevolent smile. “We’ve traveled a long way, and I know she’s tired.”

  “Of course. Please, follow me,” she replied with a British accent much like Darcy’s.

  She led them upstairs to a bedroom containing a four-poster bed. Bill’s gaze traveled to the right and the horsehair sofa sitting alongside one wall.

  “When we bought new furniture for the parlor, we brought that up here. I suppose one day we’ll get rid of it, but for now this was the only place to store it and keep it safe from rowdy boys. Though my husband does have plans for building a storehouse soon.”

  A baby suddenly shrieked, then began bawling as if the world had ended.

  “Oh, my. That’s Clementine. I’m sorry.” She turned to look at Sarah. “Please feel free to lie down. And welcome to our home.”

  Charleigh directed a quick smile to both of them before bustling out of the room, leaving Bill alone with Sarah. She looked at him as if waiting for him to instruct her on what to do. He set her canvas bag on the sofa.

  “I need to go speak with my brother. You should get some rest.”

  “They did not expect us. They do not know we intend to stay.”

  He winced at what he felt was quiet accusation. “There was no way to get a letter here from the island, and before I could find a telephone and get their number, we ran into
them.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Don’t worry, pretty Sarah. I’ll straighten it all out.”

  ❧

  After he’d closed the door, Sarah put her hand to the cheek Bill had just touched. His unexpected caress had done more to soothe her turmoil than any words spoken.

  Quietly, she moved toward the bed and lay upon it, still clutching her cross to her chest. The events of this day and the past weeks converged upon her, and she closed her eyes, squeezing away a tear. Homesick for her island, she tried to imagine her father’s steady, quiet voice speaking to her on the morning of her wedding.

  “Courage, my beautiful girl. All will be well. I’m convinced that God had this planned from the beginning.”

  She only wished she could believe it were so.

  ❧

  After they retreated to the study, Bill eased into the chair his brother motioned toward, unable to quench an ironic amusement. Once Bill had been the dapper young man in glad rags, dressed in expensive suits. Now Brent looked the well-dressed—if austere—gentleman, and Bill resembled a ragamuffin from the docks. He watched as Brent pulled some round spectacles from his pocket and slid them over his ears.

  “Why are you here?” Brent came straight to the point.

  Bill crossed his ankle over his leg, his wrists dangling over the chair arms with ease. “Ah, dear brother. You always did know how to make a man feel welcome.” Brent’s face reddened, and Bill’s mocking smile slipped from his face. What was he doing? This was no way to earn sympathy. Nor did the usual sarcasm he’d shown Brent in the past feel like a secure fit anymore.

  He sighed, wiped a hand over his beard. “My wife and I need a place to stay.”

  “A place to stay?”

  “That’s right. I’m not asking for charity; I’m good with my hands. I can take a gander at anything that needs fixing or building—”

  Brent held up his hand, cutting his brother off. “We seem to be passing over a rather important issue in regard to our last meeting that took place at the train depot more than a year ago. If memory serves me correctly, you’re a wanted man.”