Pieces of Dreams (6 page)

To ensure her continued distraction more than anything else, he said after a moment, “I'm sure Caleb will be sorry he missed tonight.”

“I suppose.” She sent him a brief glance, then looked away again.

“He's working like a demon, trying to have everything finished in time for the wedding.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Everything has to be perfect—the house, the sheds, the barn. He's been trying to get his crop in so he won't have to worry with it. I think he’s happy to have me around now, because I'm another pair of hands to help.”

“Which is not exactly what you expected to be doing while you're here, I would imagine,” she suggested.

He shrugged. “Frankly, it's not what I expected from Caleb either. I never thought he'd make a farmer.”

“You thought he'd wind up a blacksmith? He didn’t care for it any more than you; he was just less outspoken about it.”

“More diplomatic, you mean? I'll have to say, the old man seems to have taken it well enough.”

“You broke the trail for Caleb, I think. Your father didn't want to lose him the way he lost you. He—cares about you, you know, and worries when you're so far away.”

Against his will, Conrad was touched by her attempt to mediate the old rift between father and son. He said quietly, “It can't be helped. As for how he feels, well, distance and time, not to mention a little more maturity on my part, has shed a little light. We've actually managed to say a few words without fighting since I've been back.”

“I'm glad.” As they reached the pavilion, she turned toward the wide steps, indicating that she would set out the food there. She settled onto the top step in a sighing of skirts and reached for the basket, then went on. “Tell me about the places you've been, the things you've seen.”

Her suggestion was a bit more than just polite conversation, he thought. Something in it reminded him of his past yearning after things new and different. Recalling what Lydia had said of her and Melly's urges to roam, he said, “There was some mention of Tahiti the other night. I was thinking about the islands this evening when the sun was going down.”

“About going back, you mean?”

He shook his head. “The way the sun sets there, actually. It’s huge and turns blood red as it drops into the sea. Then it washes the whole world in paint-box colors: vermilion and orange, rose madder and pink and gold. The ship's deck and rails, the sails above you, the water—everything is so drenched with color that it almost hurts your eyes. You can't look away, don't even want to move because you're afraid you'll make it fade. I don't know how to tell you—it's almost like the sun sets inside you, sinking its warmth and color into your heart.”

“Oh, Conrad,” she said with a catch in her voice as she sat with a napkin-wrapped chicken breast forgotten in her hand. “It sounds glorious.”

It had been, yes, but not nearly as glorious as the woman sitting there beside him in the dusk. Watching her face, seeing the longing in its pure, perfect lines, he felt a savage need to snatch her up and spirit her away with him. To show her all the wonders he had seen and then to find more to spread in front of her. The ache of it was like a knife turning in his soul.

Impossible
.

He must remember she was Caleb's, that nothing he could do would change that. That nothing should.

He had lost his chance years ago. He had gone away and left her to Caleb.

Caleb was the better man, always had been. Soon he and Melly would become man and wife. Then he would drive away with her to his farm, carry her inside and close the door.

Caleb would bungle the wedding night. It was inevitable. What did he know of women and the tenderness they required? Caleb wasn't too strong on imagination, mistrusted the instincts that might guide him. How was a man like that to know what Melly needed? How could he touch and hold her with the required patience when he could not even consider how she might feel about being left alone tonight?

Or maybe Caleb would be fine. Maybe thinking his brother was wrong for Melly just made him feel less at fault for what he was doing now.

Caleb deserved better from him. So did Melly.

He didn't want to attend this wedding.

No. But he must.

Afterward, the sea would call him back, and he would go. He would rove the world, testing nerve and daring, building his fortune. And never come home again. Never.

But not yet.

Chapter Five

“I never did!” Conrad said with indignation.

“You did, too! And only because I stepped in a pile where a horse had been standing. You whispered that odious name plain as day. 'Smelly Melly!' I'll never forget it!”

“It was Caleb, I swear.” Conrad crossed his heart with a swift wave of the chicken leg he had been nibbling. They had eaten their fill long ago and were only pretending now as an excuse to linger. And a good thing they had finished, too, considering the subject under discussion. Not that it bothered him a bit, but Melly's straight little nose was wrinkled in such a comical expression of distaste that it made him long to kiss it.

“It was not Caleb!”

He pointed the chicken leg at her. “You just don't remember. You were only five years old; you said so yourself. You didn't learn to tell us apart until you were at least six.”

“And you were almost fifteen—old enough, surely, to have some consideration for the feelings of a little girl. I was so mortified by the experience that I cried for hours. And I still check my shoes every time I come in from the street.”

“Oh, Melly,” he said quietly, his chest tight. “I'm so sorry.”

“There! You did do it!”

He gave a definite shake of his head. “I meant I was sorry it happened, not that I take responsibility.”

“Well, Caleb would absolutely never have done such a thing.”

“My brother may be a paragon, but he's still human. He makes his share of mistakes, certainly did when he was younger. And he's never been above pretending to be me when it suits him. Anyway, it has to have been him who called you smelly because there are only two of us and it sure wasn't me! I would never have dreamed of it because I used to think you were the sweetest-smelling little thing that I—”

He stopped abruptly as she swung her head to stare at him there in the dimness.

“You what?” she demanded.

“Absolutely. And I still do.” He folded his lips over the words, stubborn and unrepentant, though he shielded his gaze with his lashes. “Lavender and roses and spice. The scent is always with you; it's one of the things I remembered most when I was on the other side of the world.”

“I—It must be Aunt Dora's potpourri. She puts it in the dresser drawers, the wardrobe, everywhere,” Melly said almost at random.

“Don't ever let her stop.” Avoiding her gaze, he reverted to the previous subject out of sheer self-protection. “Anyway, I've done enough in my short life that I deserved a good hiding for without taking the blame for things I didn't and don't do. It plain wasn't me called you names.”

She watched him a moment, then took another pickle slice on the end of her fork and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. After she swallowed it, she shook her head. “I can't believe it. All this time I thought...”

“Don't be too hard on old Caleb. It was only a tiny slip of the halo.”

Melly watched the crooked smile that curved Conrad's mouth, hearing the trace of bitterness and old pain in his voice. With their families living so close together on Main Street, they knew a great deal about each other's lives. She could remember Conrad always being in trouble of some kind, remember people calling him a scamp and worse, while Caleb was known for being polite and staying out of trouble.

She could also recall angry scenes when Conrad had shouted at his father, protesting at being blamed for everything. Once, she had come upon him crying after a terrible quarrel over some misdeed that had ended in a visit to the wood shed for a whipping. She had wanted to go to him and put her arms around him, to help ease his awful grief. But he had been older, and she knew he would not like knowing she had seen the tears in his eyes. She had crept away without a sound. Yet she had felt a special sympathy for him afterward, even when everyone else in town shook their heads over him.

She said now, “Caleb doesn't claim to be an angel.”

“No,” he said on a sigh, “a body can't even hold that against him.”

“Still...”

“What?” he said when she did not go on.

“It makes me wonder what else there might be that I don't know about him.”

He watched her a long moment before he tossed the chicken leg away and began to wipe his fingers on his napkin. “Not a thing,” he said deliberately. “Or if there is, all you have to do is ask and he'll tell you all about it. He's a good man, the best.”

“I know that,” she said simply.

“Yes, well, I wouldn't want you to think I was suggesting otherwise.”

She nodded her understanding for his loyalty. “On the other hand, I don't believe that you're exactly Satan's second in command.”

His gaze touched her mouth and lingered there. “I wouldn't bet on it.”

Looking away, he began to pick up their picnic and pack it back into the basket. Darkness had fallen while they ate, and it was time to be getting back to the others.

They cleared everything quickly, working together with an economy of motion and little need for words. Melly tucked the tablecloth they had used over the last of the food. As she reached for the basket handle, Conrad beat her to it. Rising with the lithe flexing of taut muscles, he transferred his burden to his left hand. Then extending his right, he closed her fingers in his warm grasp and drew her up to stand beside.

It was just then that they heard the soft scrape of footsteps on the sandy path. Caleb loomed out of the dark, square-shouldered, wearing his displeasure like a Greek mask.

“How cozy,” he said. “And how incredibly dumb. I guess you know you'll have the whole town gabbling like a flock of geese.”

“Not if you'll keep your voice down,” Conrad said in stringent censure.

“Keep my voice down? Why, when most everybody else has gone home! Good God, Conrad, this isn't some free and easy heathen land. What were you thinking of when you led Melly way down here? Or need I ask?”

Conrad stiffened. As Melly tried to pull her fingers free, he tightened his hold. His voice carried a warning note in its deep timbre. “I suggest that you think carefully before you say any more, brother. What I was thinking of was enjoying Melly's home cooking, since it didn't look as if you were going to show up to appreciate it. As for the rest of the fine citizens of this town, I doubt they'll have two words to say—unless you want to keep shouting until they realize I was the one who ate the pound cake she made for you.”

Caleb jutted out his chin and put his hands on his hips. “You mean you let everybody think you were me.”

“More or less. I had this notion your reputation could survive an hour alone with your bride-to-be.”

“And just what did Melly think?”

Caleb appeared to be speaking to his brother, but Melly thought his words were for her as well. She said tersely, “I knew exactly who he was.”

“Good,” Caleb said on a hard-drawn breath. “That's good, since it means Conrad couldn't take advantage.”

Melly glanced at the man who stood protectively at her side; she couldn't help it. Conrad not only
could
have taken advantage, but he
had
. And she had encouraged him, in a way. By the same token, she thought he had meant nothing harmful; it was just his way to be forward.

In any event, she resented being forced to stand there while Caleb glowered in righteous indignation. It gave her a vivid idea of what it must have been like for Conrad all those years, accused with little to say in his defense, always facing someone so certain of moral superiority.

Voice taut, she said, “I would remind you, Caleb, that this whole thing would not have come about if you had been here. Or if you had taken me with you on today's outing.”

“I've already explained what I was about,” Caleb said brusquely.