One Lavender Ribbon (29 page)

When the older woman moved to hide the letters behind her, Adrienne stepped toward her and gently took hold of her wrist. “If you wrote the letters from Grace, what are these?”

Sara forced out a long breath. “These are the letters from me. The ones I never sent. They’ve been in a locked drawer in my bureau for years.”

“The antique bureau in your living room, right? I’ve noticed you looking at it now and then. I thought it held a secret, but not this.”

Sara held out the stack of letters, and Adrienne took it, feeling as if she held another treasure in her hands. Yet the burden weighed heavily. And Adrienne didn’t know what to do with them. If she could burn them and never have to tell Pops the truth, that seemed the best—albeit most deceitful—course of action. She understood how easy it must have been for Sara to fall into this deception. The truth was a beast with sharpened claws.

A tiny smile appeared on Sara’s face. “Go ahead. Read one.”

Adrienne froze. By reading them, even one, she became part of the fraud. Her fingertips grew sweaty with her indecision. Somewhere inside, her heart made the choice her mind couldn’t. She slid one letter from beneath the ribbon. The remaining pages she set on the nearby bookshelf. Adrienne unfolded the page and read.

Dear William,

Sometimes I marvel at the selfishness that burdens my soul. I am drowning, slipping silently into quicksand made by my own hands. Lies are hideous things. I feel as though I’m living a dual life. One of a careful daughter, another of a secret lover.

If it weren’t for my intense love for you, I’d stop. I’d give up this charade. I’d tell Momma and Gracie the truth. But I won’t. So much rests on my ability to keep the two very separate parts of my life far from each other. Maybe you understand. You of all people always understand my thoughts and feelings. And you—the young man who left town as the son of a merchant but will return to me as a battle-toughened hero. Your country honors your sacrifice. Even in the streets, the children tell tales of the brave 101st. And what is that like for you? Knowing your most inner being—the poet I know and love—must take second place to the hero you are called? You, William, are leading a dual life as well.

In it all, we have each other. That makes it worth every scorn I may one day face. Worth every ounce of shame I feel when my mother or my sister look upon me with suspicious eyes. You’re worth it all, William. You hold my heart in your gentle hands. You have since the day we met. And if it is up to me, you always will.

Your true love,

Sara

There were no words. What feeble encouragement could Adrienne give after reading a letter that honest, that intimate, that private? With a tear tickling the corner of her eye, she said, “Sara, you have to show him.”

Old fingers darted out and snatched the letter. “And what, Adrienne? He has forgiven me for so much. Where does his charity run out?”

“Why didn’t you let him know when you first saw him again?” Adrienne wasn’t trying to accuse—just understand.

“It’s unforgivable. What I did. He wrote such intimate things, private things in those letters.” Sara shook her head. “When I got the opportunity to see him again, I couldn’t . . . just couldn’t. Do you have any idea what it was like writing him with my mother and my sister in the next room? Always wondering when they’d find out. What my mother would do to me?”

“But Sara—”

“No. I won’t hear it.” She turned away, closing off the conversation. When she looked over her shoulder at Adrienne, tears glistened in her eyes. “I finally have him in my life. Do you know what that means to me? How many years I hoped for this, knowing there was no way, no
possible way
I could spend my life with the man I love?”

Adrienne ran her hands through her hair. She wouldn’t convince Sara tonight. “Someday, Sara. He’ll need to know.”

She nodded. “Please, can we talk about something else?”

Adrienne tipped her head, letting the intensity go. “As I was saying earlier, everything about you is beautiful.”

With an appreciative smile, Sara’s nearly untraceable Southern accent thickened. “Well, Momma did have her rules.” She walked to the bed and grabbed the pillow, then placed it on top of her head and began to stroll across the room, elbows at her sides, fingertips out.

Adrienne clapped. “Bravo.”

“Gracefully, my darling,” she instructed as Adrienne put a pillow on her head. It fell off.

“This is too easy.” Sara tossed the pillow onto the bed and reached for a book from the narrow bookshelf by the window. She balanced it and walked, making smooth twists and turns. Again, Adrienne followed her lead, laughing as she had to reach up time and time again to steady the book that slid from her like an ill-fitting crown.

Book still perfectly balanced, Sara bent her knees and swept down in one graceful motion to pick up a shoe from the floor. “Momma taught us how to walk like a lady, sit like a lady, descend the stairs like a lady.”

“There’s a proper way to descend the stairs?” Adrienne laughed and rolled her eyes, glad for the change of topic. “Boy, I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Of course,” Sara said, nose high. “Knees together as if connected. Hand lightly on the banister, stand tall, and float down the stairs. I was a bitter disappointment to Momma.” She tipped her head forward, letting the book slide into her hands.

Adrienne’s book slid off on its own. “All that training must have taken root somewhere. You’re more graceful than any woman I know.”

“I suppose. Somewhere between knobby, skinned-up knees and the womanly body I prayed for and didn’t think I’d ever get.” Her eyes left Adrienne. “Gracie didn’t have to work at it. Beauty, elegance just came naturally to her. But for once, I wanted to be Cinderella at the ball. I just always ended up playing in the mud puddle when the coach arrived.”

Adrienne closed the gap between them. She rested her hands on Sara’s shoulders.

“William always thought of me like a kid sister.” She practically whispered the words, biting back the pain that edged her eyes. “What if he still does?”

Adrienne shook her head. “He doesn’t. I can see it even if you can’t. Besides,” she grinned, “Cinderella always gets the handsome prince.”

“Always?”

Adrienne nodded.

“What about your handsome prince?”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Adrienne stiffened. “My handsome prince is acting like a toad right now.” He was the last thing she wanted to think about. It had been a magical day until . . .

“Acting like a toad?” Sara tapped her index finger on her chin. “I think a kiss rectifies that.”

“I’d rather kiss a toad.”

Sara yawned and Adrienne took it as a cue to work her way to the bedroom door. “Well, you’ll get your chance bright and early tomorrow morning.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned to face the older woman. “You don’t actually believe he’s still coming, do you?”

Sara’s eyes were troubled. “Of course he is. He was very worried about you overdoing it in the heat. People don’t just toss you aside because they get mad at you. Goodness, Adrienne. That’s not really what you expected, is it?”

It wasn’t just what she expected, it was what she knew would happen.

A
shimmering black horse galloped beneath Adrienne. Even from her place astride him, she was aware of the shine of dark velvet hide and rolling muscles. No saddle to separate her from the animal that was as tuned to her thoughts as any she could ever hope would be.

And together they ran. They ran so hard and fast that all the world, green and beautiful, disappeared behind them. Her hair—splayed in brilliant fashion—moved in tandem with the horse’s mane. All this she saw as if watching from above, but also felt and experienced as the two of them fled from the draining world around.

Far ahead a fence appeared. With it, cold. She willed the horse forward, but he slowed. Adrienne raked her bare feet against his midsection, along the ribs swelling and shrinking with each heavy breath. Still the horse slowed as snow dusted the dreamy world with fine white powder. She remembered Chicago, remembered being so cold she’d thought she’d never thaw. When the stallion came to an abrupt stop at the fence line, Adrienne threw herself off and ran to the gate, already freezing over in the chill. Her hands fumbled with the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. Nor would her feet. She looked down to see snow and ice working their way up, encasing her ankles, sliding up her legs. She screamed and tossed, trying to break their torturous hold.

Bang, bang, bang.

Her gaze shot left, but all she saw was the winded stallion and the ghost-white puffs of air that left his nostrils and vanished into the snow-whitened air.

Bang, bang, bang.

She stirred. Someone was far down the fencerow hammering it, trying to break it down. In one strong jerk of her body, she threw herself in hopes of breaking free of her icy prison.

Wham!
Disoriented, she tried to look around, but all she saw was dark. Her side ached. Something was over her head. Adrienne kicked off the covers and realized she’d landed on her floor by her bed. The dream was still fresh, and she pushed all the blankets away because the sense of entrapment still clung to her like cobwebs.

A hazy digital clock read 4:50. A hand on her side, she sat down at the edge of the bed trying to make sense of the dream. The horse, the running—it felt so free,
she
felt so free, so alive.

Bang, bang, bang.

She nearly dropped again. Her gaze shot to the window, then back to the clock. In a rush, she ran out of the room, flipping lights as she went. Before she could pull the door open, she looked down to make sure she was dressed. T-shirt and sweats.

She flipped on the porch light and swung the door open to a grinning Will. Really. He had the nerve to smile.

She face palmed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

He held out a bouquet of flowers. Wildflowers, her favorite, and an array of shapes and colors. “I’m here to apologize.”

When she stood there stoicly, crossing her arms over her chest, he added, “And paint.”

“It’s four fifty in the morning.” A spray of three Gerbera daisies fought for her attention in the center of the bouquet, but she resisted and held eye contact—bleary as he might seem—with Will.

He shrugged. “I told you I’d be here at five o’ clock.”

She shook her head, noticed the tangles at the ends of her hair, and refused to smooth it. “I thought you were joking.”

His eyes darkened. “I never joke about work.”

In a taunt, he held the flowers out to her and shook them back and forth, his brows tilting upward at the inner edges. “I think they’re thirsty.”

She reached out. “Give me those. You’ll shake every petal off them if you’re not careful.” Of course, she’d grabbed them with an equal amount of force.

Will bit back a smile. She spun from the door and headed to the kitchen. “Not a morning person?” He called to her.

She stopped and angled her gaze to him, eyes narrow. “I thought you were here to apologize.”

“I thought I did.”

She cradled the bundle to her. Gerbera daisies really were the most beautiful flowers on the planet. “No. You said you were here to apologize. You never said you were sorry, what you were sorry for, or how you came to realize you
should
apologize.”

“Not gonna let me off the hook, are you?”

“Not on your life. If you wanted mercy, you should have brought dark chocolate with these.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

“Duly noted. I’ll keep that in mind for our next spat.” Will sank onto a wooden rocking chair in her living room.

She tilted her head around the corner and stared at him. “Our next spat?”

“Well, Pops called it a tiff. But my mom always referred to their fights as spats. I don’t actually know what either word means.” The chair squeaked as he rocked back and forth. “This is a great chair.”

But Adrienne was lost in the fact that Will Bryant was comparing their heated conversation—if she could even call it that—to one of his
parents’
spats. That fell well inside
couples territory
, and she hadn’t asked for a deed. Which made him a squatter. Oh dear, she really needed coffee.

She put the flowers in a fine crystal vase and ground fresh coffee beans, aware of him rocking away in the other room. Aware that he felt so
comfortable
in her house that he’d slid right in and claimed a spot. Speaking of spots, her side hurt.

“Are you all right?”

She jumped when she heard his voice from the door. He stepped into her kitchen as she turned to face him.

He pointed to her hand, still rubbing her hip.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Must have been something to cause pain you
still feel
.”

“I fell out of bed when I heard . . . I guess I heard you banging on the door. But . . . ” Adrienne kneaded her bottom lip. “I think you were in my dream, tearing down the fence.” She stared over at him, and he remained quiet, letting her sort the scattered pieces. “You were the one. The horse couldn’t do it. Couldn’t jump it. And with the snow and ice we were going to be trapped there.”