A Gentle Fragrance Page 6

  “The police aren’t looking for me if that’s what you’re worried about. And neither is Vittorio.” Too late, he wondered if he should have added the last. He had planned to tell him one day, yes, but after they’d settled in and the waters had smoothed over a bit.

  “Vittorio?”

  “The man I worked for. He thought it was curtains for me.” Bill squirmed the slightest bit when Brent only stared. “He, uh, sent someone to rub me out.”

  “Rub you out? You mean he tried to kill you.”

  Bill’s nod was short as he pulled up his shirt a fraction, showing the scar. “Knifed in the gut.”

  Brent stared at Bill’s bronzed stomach with its white scar, then back into his eyes. “And you want to make your home here, and in so doing, bring imminent trouble upon the heads of all those staying at the refuge?” His words were incredulous.

  “I told you. They think I’m dead. I was pushed overboard.” Bill hesitated before saying the rest. “A dolphin saved me and took me to an island. Sarah found me and dragged me to the beach.”

  Brent’s mouth dropped partly open, his stare one of speculative disbelief.

  “I’m not making any of this up. I know it sounds farfetched, but it’s the truth, so help me.”

  “You’ve been on this island this entire time?”

  “Only for the past two months. I, uh. . .” The shirt Bill wore felt incredibly tight, and he shifted. “I recovered from my wound in the home of a missionary. Sarah’s father.” It was time to tell the rest, come what may. “Fact is, I found Christ there.”

  Brent’s mouth dropped down farther, his eyes widening. “By Christ, I assume you mean—”

  “Jesus Christ, God’s Son.” Bill gave a soft snort. “Is the concept so hard for you to believe? That your black-hearted brother can find salvation, too?”

  Brent shook his head in wonder. “Well, it wasn’t a burning bush, after all, but a dolphin.”

  “Excuse me?” Bill drew his brows together at his brother’s faint remark.

  “Never mind.” Brent gave Bill the first real smile he had seen, though uncertainty tinged it. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that you changed your course in life. You have changed your course?” Brent added.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. I figured a place that gives young criminals a second chance might be willing to give an old criminal one, too.” His words came sincerely from a heart that he now laid bare before his brother. “I’m not happy about the past, Brent. If I could turn back the clock, I would, and I’d do things differently. But I can’t. So I’ll just have to muddle through somehow and hope something right comes of it.”

  “We all have that problem, wishing we’d done things differently. Yet God can steer you in the right direction if you ask Him.”

  “I have.”

  Brent stared at his clasped hands a taut moment, then rose from the chair. “I’ll have to take this up with the board. I don’t have the authority to make such weighty decisions without approval.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Bill stood, considered, then held out his hand.

  Brent started, obviously taken aback, but reached across the desk and accepted Bill’s hand in a shake. They stood that way for a moment, tears welling in their eyes.

  It was the first physical contact the two brothers had shared since Bill ran away from home twelve years ago.

  Nine

  Sarah often felt adrift in an ocean whose wild waves splashed all around her. Since Stewart Lyons and the rest of the board had approved her and Bill living at the refuge, life had taken on a surreal quality. On the island, she had pored endless hours through her father’s many books, greedily soaking up every word about the world far from which she lived. But nothing could have prepared her for life at Lyons’ Refuge.

  Fifteen boisterous boys made their home there, ranging in ages from six to sixteen. All of them formerly in trouble with the law, they had been sent or brought to the refuge by Stewart Lyons, the headmaster of the reform school. Among those helping him with the massive task of improving the boys’ minds and hearts was his wife, Charleigh.

  Charleigh and Darcy, the cook, were an entity unto themselves. Full of fun and wit, Darcy thought nothing of speaking her mind, surprising Sarah, who’d always been taught restraint. It amazed Sarah to learn that both women had met in a London jail cell. She listened with rapt attention to their personal stories and to how they founded the school when Stewart, a former attorney, had built the place while Charleigh served her sentence in London.

  Always quiet, Sarah didn’t mind sitting on the fringes of the women’s conversations, absorbing all they said. Yet one afternoon, as the women discussed the daily details of the household, Sarah spoke.

  “What can I do for the refuge? I want to help, as well.”

  Both women looked at her, taken aback by her sudden entry into the conversation.

  “I could always use help in the kitchen,” Darcy said. “Since Irma moved away to her sister’s, I’m the only cook here now.”

  “Can you cook?” Charleigh’s eyes were kind.

  “Yes. I know how to prepare fish, octopus, eel. . .” Sarah ended her list when the women gave her blank stares. She looked down. “But not the food you have here in America, no.”

  “Say. . .” Darcy’s voice sparkled. “I have an idea, but I’ll need to speak with Brent first. Have you ever taught children?”

  “In the village, I helped my father with his missionary efforts.”

  “How lovely. Would you be willin’ to speak with the boys about life on your island? It might do them a world of good, opening up their minds to new adventures and the like. Let them see how the other part of the world lives. They certainly seemed to like that book Robinson Crusoe.”

  “I agree,” Charleigh said. “That’s a splendid idea, Darcy.”

  Sarah willed her heart to stop beating so fast. Teach a roomful of fifteen boys, some of them young men? The children she’d ministered to had been small. She kept her face a mask and nodded. “If my husband approves, I can do this.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll speak with Brent tonight.”

  Feeling suddenly unable to breathe, wondering if she’d spoken too soon, Sarah excused herself and went outside. She strolled along the grounds, taking in the scenery.

  Here in New York the trees didn’t have fronds or fruit and coconuts growing from within their boughs as they did on the island. These trees were covered in a mixture of greens, from light to dark, with smaller leaves of serrated or round shapes, different from the palms. But they stood taller and gave much shade. And though here the air was cooler than the sultry heat of her island at noonday, the shade was welcome since the sun shone brightly.

  In the distance she could see Bill on a ladder as he stood near the roof of the barn and pounded with a hammer. She drew closer.

  His shirt and hair were damp from perspiration. After a time, he stopped, as though sensing her silent presence, and looked over his shoulder. He no longer wore a beard, though he’d kept a faint mustache and had trimmed his hair. The effect was pleasing but made him seem different from the man she’d learned to know on the island. It almost seemed as if he had wrought the physical changes to underscore the distance that remained between them.

  “Sarah. Is everything all right?”

  “I would like to speak with you if I may.”

  Bill glanced at the roof, as if he’d really rather pound on it some more, then looked back at her and gave a swift nod. He climbed down the ladder and faced her.

  “Okay. You’ve got my undivided attention.”

  As he had hers. She could feel his warmth, his nearness, and something went weak inside her. His blue eyes were piercing, though they contained gentleness and not anger, touching her very soul. With a sad little inward sigh, she wondered what had gone wrong between them, so much so that he no longer wanted her.

  She told him about Charleigh and Darcy’s proposal, and he smiled. “That sounds like a great
idea.”

  “You approve?”

  “Of course. I think it might be good for you, Sarah. You have such circles under your eyes lately.” He gently brushed his fingertip underneath her eye as he spoke, so lightly, it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

  Yet Sarah felt the caress down to her very soul. She held her breath.

  “But are you sure you can handle the task?” He lowered his hand to his side. “I realize it’s been difficult for you to learn a new manner of living, and this place isn’t your usual sort. I know you’ve been homesick.”

  Sarah swallowed back the emotion that rose to her throat. Missing her father and the island had been expected. Missing her husband’s touch and presence had not.

  “I believe I can do this.”

  “Then you should.” He looked at her seconds longer, then glanced away. “I have to get back to work. That roof needs repairing before any more rain falls.”

  Sarah didn’t want to go. “Is there anything I can do to help, Bill? Perhaps you would like a glass of water?” She wished she’d thought to bring some with her.

  “That would be swell.”

  “Swell?” A vision of water ballooning into a huge bubble formed in her mind.

  He grinned. “Meaning I’d like some very much, thanks. I think it’s time I teach you slang, though Brent would have a conniption. He’s very proper, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He winked slightly as if sharing a joke.

  Again her heart felt as though it no longer belonged to her. The thought of spending time with her husband in any capacity birthed new hope within. “I should like to learn this slang if it would please you.” I should like to learn everything there is to know about you, she silently added.

  He looked at her a long moment. His smile faded, and a tender expression entered his eyes, reminding her of that long-ago night.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes, Bill?”

  “Let’s skip out on the noonday meal and go have ourselves a picnic. There’s a lake not too far from here, I’m told. We could go there.”

  His words slowly brought to life a part of her that had started to die.

  ❧

  Excited at the prospect of spending time alone with his wife in the pleasurable atmosphere of a picnic, Bill hurried through his task of fixing the roof. When he entered the main house, however, Sarah was nowhere to be found.

  “I believe she went upstairs to lie down,” Charleigh offered as she set one of the two dining-room tables. “She wasn’t feeling well, poor thing.”

  Worried, Bill took the stairs by twos. “Sarah?” he asked as he opened their bedroom door.

  She lay upon the bed, still. Her eyes remained closed.

  He hurried to the bedside and knelt down, putting a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Sarah, are you all right?”

  Her eyes opened. “Bill?” she asked, as though coming out of a fog. Her eyes grew more alert. “Is it time for our picnic?”

  “Never mind about that.” He gently pushed her back down when she started to rise. “We can do it another day. You look tired, and maybe you should just rest this afternoon.” He didn’t like how pale her face appeared, and her mouth seemed strained.

  “I would like to go with you on this picnic.”

  “Another time, Sarah. This whole journey to America has taken quite a toll on you. You’ve hardly had any rest since we got here. Not that I’ve seen, anyway.” He attempted a smile, though concern pounded through his brain. “Your father wouldn’t be at all happy with me if I didn’t take the best care of you. I promised him I would, and I don’t intend to let him down.” By referring to her father, he hoped she would see reason, since she respected the man so.

  Sarah’s eyes grew sad for an instant, before the emotionless mask again slipped into place. Bill scolded himself for an unwise decision. Broaching the subject of her father had only served to increase her loneliness and homesickness.

  “Very well, Bill. I will do as you wish.” She turned from him, curling up on her side.

  He stood looking down at her forlorn form for the longest time, strongly wanting to lie down beside her, to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  Instead, he turned and left the room.

  Ten

  Sarah heard the door close. Only then did she open her eyes. Heaviness threatened to weigh her spirit down, and she felt like she might retch. Bill had so quickly found an excuse to cancel their picnic, as if he’d regretted his impulsive invitation. His comment about her father had merely served to emphasize what she already knew. Bill married her at her father’s request, to please him. Perhaps in gratitude for saving Bill’s life.

  Again, she asked herself the question she’d posed since the first night on the ship: Was there hope for their marriage? If only she had someone to confide in, someone who could point out to her what she was doing wrong. She loved Bill, if love meant that every ounce of who she was desired to be with him, to know him, to share in his every success, and to comfort him in his defeats. If only Aunt Lefu were here to guide her and give her advice She tried to show strength and not weakness, but as her aunt had often scolded her, she still had much to learn. Too often, Sarah revealed what lay enclosed within her heart. Through her eyes, which her father told her were a mirror to her soul. And through her expressions that she knew were the windows of her emotions. Perhaps the fact that her father was the type of man to exhibit his feelings made it more difficult for Sarah not to do the same.

  With a sigh, Sarah rose to a sitting position and swung her feet to the floor. She still felt dizzy but desired no further sleep. Her gaze went to the cross on the bedstand table, and she reached for it. Gently she ran her fingers over the grooves and the wavy lines in the smooth wood.

  “Pray for me, Father. For both of us. Bill and I are in great need of your prayers.”

  Though she had looked at the cross many times, she had never actually studied it. Now her gaze went to the symbol carved at the top. A sun and moon, with the crescent of the moon inside the sun. From conversations with her father, she knew what that meant. The sun was her father, the moon her mother. The two were combined to show unity. Their marriage.

  She looked at the next symbol, lower down, a crown next to the same sun bearing the moon, and smiled. Her father had once told her that her name meant princess. A fitting choice, since her grandfather had been a chieftain, but perhaps there was more to it than that. She pondered the thought, then looked still lower.

  Here the crown lay next to a waterfall, with the sun-moon in the background hovering over it. Her mother and father protectively watching over her as a child while she played near her favorite spot, no doubt. She pressed her fingertips atop the symbol, memories of happier times swimming to her mind. After a while, she looked down at the next symbol.

  A weaker sun had been carved to the left and a heavy line separated it from the crescent moon, which had a tiny moon inside it. Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. The death of her mother and stillborn child. A girl, her father once told her.

  Unable to complete her study of the cross, Sarah brought it to her heart and held it there.

  ❧

  Disappointed about the canceled picnic, Bill didn’t feel like joining the throng at the dinner table and instead slipped into the kitchen to grab a sandwich. Darcy stood at the counter, humming and slicing bread, which she piled onto a platter.

  “Mind if I help myself?” Bill motioned to the bread.

  “You’re not eating with the rest of us?”

  “Not much up to it. Thought I’d just grab a bite in here and then head back to work.” He eyed the platter of sliced roast beef. “Mind if I have some of that, too?”

  “Help yourself. Is Sarah not coming down either?”

  “She wasn’t feeling well.” He studied Darcy’s kind eyes that never seemed to snub anyone. “Would you mind too much going up and looking in on her after the meal? I think she’s homesick, and a women’s chat-to-chat might perk her up.”

  “Sure thi
ng, guv. I’m always ready for a friendly chat.”

  She offered him a smile, allowing him to fork hefty amounts of roast beef on his bread before she grabbed the two platters and left the kitchen. Bill pumped water into a glass, then headed for the small table in the corner. Before he could take a bite, Brent strode into the room.

  “It has come to my attention that you plan to dine in the kitchen instead of partaking of the meal with the rest of us.”

  Bill gave a curt nod.

  “May I ask why?”

  “I just don’t feel up to all the lively chatter right now.” Bill hoped he would get the point.

  Instead, Brent pulled a chair out and sat down across from him. “You never were the type of man to be labeled as an introvert. Is there a problem?”

  Bill stared at the sandwich he held before lowering it to his plate. It might help to get it off his chest, and Brent was his brother. What a switch, though! Bill had always been the one to steer Brent when they were boys, and he’d never thought of him as anything but a kid brother, someone who needed to be taught, not a teacher. Yet Brent was a teacher, come to think of it, and a good one according to what Bill had heard.

  “It’s about me and Sarah.” And with that opening line, the entire story of their meeting on the island up through the arranged marriage came gushing forth. However, he didn’t tell Brent about the one night he had shared with Sarah on the ship; that was too personal, too special.

  Brent removed his spectacles and polished them. Bill relied on every store of patience he possessed as he waited.

  “One tidbit of information I’ve learned throughout my courtship and marriage to Darcy is the importance of acting upon how you feel. If you love your wife, do not only tell her so, but show it in your actions.” Brent replaced his spectacles over his ears.

  Tell her? Bill shied from the idea, picturing Sarah’s bland, expressionless reaction. He couldn’t take that again. “Exactly how do you recommend I show her? I’ve tried by dressing her like the other women so she wouldn’t feel like an outsider. I’ve tried by suggesting a picnic, though we have yet to go on it. I’ve tried by giving her time alone to adjust to this new life.”