To Dream Again

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Adrian knew the first step was to change banks. Tomorrow, he would have all his accounts transferred to Joslyn Brothers. Then he would find out who Nathaniel's suppliers were and what credit terms they offered. With a little luck and a little money in the right hands, those terms would be changed.

  ***

  "We'll spread ourselves too thin." Mara looked up from the notes she was scribbling and glared across the table at her partner as a crack of thunder sounded outside.

  Nathaniel shook his head. "We have to have some accessories available for sale immediately, or what's the point?"

  "Some, yes, but seventeen different items is a bit excessive, don't you think?" She studied his set expression and sighed. "All right, all right, we'll keep the two bridges, but we don't need to offer three stations!"

  "Done," he agreed promptly. "We'll offer two. But I want all four types of passenger car."

  Mara groaned and set down her pencil. They had been at this for over three hours. The numbers were running together, and all the ideas he was tossing out at her, one after another, were making her dizzy. She rested her forehead on one hand and began to rub the tense muscles in her neck with the other, listening as the heavy rain began to drum against the roof.

  "Headache?"

  She nodded. "Yes, and it's your fault," she grumbled. "You gave it to me."

  He pushed back his chair. "Then it's up to me to rid you of it," he said and moved to stand behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  She stiffened, and all her muscles tensed even more. "What are you doing?"

  "Relax," he ordered and brushed his thumbs across the muscles beneath her neck.

  She could feel the warmth of his touch through the white linen of her shirtwaist, and she realized he actually intended to massage her neck.

  She leaned forward and shrugged her shoulders in discouragement, hoping he would move away. "No, really, this isn't necessary," she protested, feeling a hot blush creep up her cheeks at the familiar feel of his touch and memories of two nights before.

  He paid no attention, of course. "Why do you always have to argue with me?" he asked, the tips of his fingers caressing her collarbone, sliding the linen back and forth across her skin.

  She wriggled uncomfortably in her chair, wishing she could escape. But she was trapped by the table in front of her, the arms of her chair, and the man behind her. "I don't always argue with you."

  "Yes, you do. All the time."

  "I do not."

  "Stop fidgeting," he ordered, unperturbed by her struggles. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and his thumbs suddenly pressed hard into the muscles below the nape of her neck.

  An excruciating pain shot through her, and she cried out. "That hurts!"

  "I'm not surprised." His thumbs pressed even harder, moving in slow circles. "You're a bundle of knots. It's no wonder your head aches."

  Mara gritted her teeth against the pain, but after a few minutes, the tenseness in her muscles eased, the pain dissolved, and a warm, pleasurable sensation began to take its place. Her eyes fluttered shut as she listened to the soothing sound of the rain on the roof and enjoyed the comforting feel of Nathaniel's fingers massaging her neck. A groan escaped her.

  "Feeling better?"

  Mara nodded and made a tiny affirmative sound, so relaxed by the magic touch of his fingers she couldn't speak.

  He slid one hand around her neck, and before she realized what he intended, he untied the ribbon at her throat and unfastened the top button of her shirtwaist. Dazed, she felt his hand slide beneath her collar and around to span the back of her neck, caressing gently, bare skin to bare skin.

  She felt another shot of pain as he began to massage the tiny muscles on either side of her neck, but she was more relaxed now, and it didn't seem so bad. In fact, it began to feel quite nice. She let out her breath on a contented sigh.

  Nathaniel heard the sound, somewhere past the pounding of his heart and the roar in his ears and the desire clogging his senses. This had not been one of his best ideas, and he cursed his own impulsiveness. He could see only two inches of ivory skin, tinged with pink, between the dark upsweep of her hair and the white linen of her collar, but he could feel all the softness of it beneath his fingers. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand back, away from the heat of her skin to the safer territory of her shoulders.

  But he found that to be no help, for now he had to fight the temptation to bend his head and kiss the skin he had caressed, to breathe in the scent of lilacs, to take down her hair and bury his face in its dark softness.

  Desperately, he reminded himself of all the things he'd been raised to believe in, things like honor and propriety. He reminded himself of his own resolution to keep his distance from her for both their sakes. His hands stilled. Despite his resolutions, he slowly lowered his head.

  The sound of hurried footsteps pounding on steel stairs caused Nathaniel to straighten abruptly. He and Mara both turned toward the door leading onto the fire escape as an impatient knocking began and Billy's voice called, "Nathaniel? Are ye in there?"

  Not knowing whether he was relieved or irritated, Nathaniel lifted his hands from Mara's shoulders and walked to the door. Lifting the latch, he opened the door to find Billy standing on the fire escape, coatless and drenched.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "It's quicker to come up this way," Billy answered. "Otherwise, I'd have to go all the way around to the front door."

  "That's not what I meant," Nathaniel said. He pulled

  the boy inside and shut the door. "I took you home hours ago."

  "I couldn't sleep. The thunder kept wakin' me up."

  "You weren't afraid, were you?"

  "No. It was just noisy."

  Mara rose and crossed the room. "You should be in bed, young man," she admonished him. She checked her pendant watch, and her frown deepened. "Heavens, it's after midnight. The pubs are closed. Does your father know you're out so late?"

  Billy stared up at her. "'e ain't 'ome yet. What good's it do to stay in bed when ye can't sleep?" His blue eyes widened with deliberate innocence. "If ye ain't glad t'see me, I'll go 'ome," he said woefully.

  Mara glanced at Nathaniel and saw a smile tilt the corners of his mouth.

  He saw her frown and hastily assumed a serious expression. "Of course we're glad to see you, Billy. But Mrs. Elliot is right. It's not good for you to be out this late, especially in the rain. You're soaking wet."

  "It's not so bad, Nathaniel." Billy shook himself from side to side like a shaggy dog, sending droplets of water in all directions. "I'll dry. Can I play with the trains now?"

  Mara and Nathaniel exchanged glances, and Mara shook her head. "No, Billy, it's long past your bedtime. Nathaniel shall take you home."

  "But I don't want to go 'ome." Billy kicked at the puddle of water forming at his feet. "I don't like it there."

  Mara felt the boy's mournful voice tug at her heart, but she couldn't let him stay. "I know you don't," she said gently. "But your father will be worried about you if he comes home and you aren't there."

  "'e don't care." The contempt in Billy's voice was plain.

  She forced herself to remain firm. "Billy, you have to go home."

  He folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. "I don't want to."

  "Not another word." She mirrored his stance and spoke to him in the same tone of voice she normally reserved for recalcitrant workmen. "You march home right now, young man."

  "But—"

  "Now."

  Nathaniel put a hand on the boy's shoulder to halt any further protests and leaned down. Loud enough for Mara to hear, he whispered, "Billy, I've learned when a woman talks like that, it's best not to argue. You can't win."

  Billy turned his head, his eyes meeting Nathaniel's. "Me mum used to talk like that when she made me eat peas," he said quietly.

  Nathaniel nodded and gave Mara a teasing glance. "Then you know what I mean."

  "Yes, sir."
r />   Mara frowned at the pair of them and pointed a finger to the door, doing her best to look stern. "Out."

  "Yes, ma'am." Nathaniel straightened and offered Billy his hand.

  Billy took it. "Yes, ma'am," he echoed meekly and walked with Nathaniel to the door. Nathaniel opened it, and they stepped out onto the fire escape.

  Nathaniel paused long enough to glance back at her. "Wait here, and I'll walk you home. Don't walk back by yourself."

  "All right." Following him as far as the door, she whispered, "If his father is home, it could mean trouble. Don't go inside with him."

  He grinned at her. "Worried about me?"

  She was, but she had no intention of admitting such a thing. "I'm worried about Billy."

  "Oh," he said, sounding almost disappointed.

  She watched as he descended the stairs of the fire escape, Billy in tow. The rain had stopped, and the moon had come out from behind a cloud to light their way. Hand in hand, the tall man and the small boy walked down the alley toward the street.

  "Nathaniel?" Billy's voice floated back to her in the quiet of evening.

  "Yes?"

  "When Mrs. Elliot talks to me like that, does that mean she likes me?"

  "Yes, Billy, I think it does."

  "I'm glad."

  Mara smiled. "So am I, Billy," she confessed softly and shut the door. Leaning against it, she gave a sigh of contentment and reached up to rub her hand against the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and savored again the magic touch of Nathaniel's fingers.

  A wonderful thing, massage. Her headache was gone, and Mara didn't think she'd ever felt this good in her life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  During the weeks that followed, Mara spent many hours on the production floor with Nathaniel, helping to perfect their system. Raw materials and train parts would begin arriving around the middle of October, and Nathaniel insisted that he needed her help to make things ready.

  Neither of them mentioned the night in the office when he had massaged away her headache, but Mara often found the memory of it steal over her without warning. If she watched him talking with the workmen, sometimes a gesture of his hand would remind her of how he'd touched her. If she saw him tug at his collar as he worked, she would recall how he had loosened the ribbon at her throat. The sweetness of it would all come rushing back, and an unbidden wish to have him touch her again would whisper, If only...

  Whenever she caught herself spinning romantic daydreams, the stark, horrible fear that she was falling in love with him inevitably hit her like a splash of icy water, followed by panic and vehement denial.

  She didn't need him, she told herself firmly. She didn't need anyone. She didn't love him. He was a dreamy fool with the mind of an engineer and the soul of a poet. He was brilliant. He was crazy. He was absurd.

  Her husband's whimsical dreams had brought her nothing but heartache, she reminded herself time and again. But as the days passed, she found herself becoming more and more caught up in Nathaniel's dreams of toys and trains, and the painful memories of James and all his broken promises grew dimmer and became harder to cling to.

  Billy became a familiar sight around the factory, and Mara was glad because the boy provided any number of distractions for her wayward thoughts. He ran errands for her, and he helped with what he proudly called "research" by playing with various toys and giving Nathaniel and Mara his honest opinion.

  When the boy realized that the people in the factory didn't laugh at the sight of his birthmark or make fun of him the way other children did, he quickly lost his wary fear of strangers, and the workers became accustomed to the sight of the pint-sized shadow tagging behind Nathaniel. Whenever they walked through the assembly section, the women would look up from their work and exchange smiles as they listened to Nathaniel answer Billy's never-ending supply of questions.

  Mara became accustomed to Billy's presence, but his refusal to go to school weighed heavy on her mind. She worried about the boy more than she had a right to, perhaps because it was easier to think about the welfare of the child than about her own bewildering feelings. Besides, one simple fact continually brought Billy's situation to the forefront of her mind. He smelled.

  Saturday afternoon found her alone with the boy. The factory had closed for the weekend, and Nathaniel was out calling on toy merchants. Mara looked up from her work and watched the boy as he experimented with Nathaniel's latest idea: a coil of wire that somehow flipped end over end, moving across the floor. Nathaniel had explained how it worked, enthusiastically rambling on about the laws of physics and concepts of propulsion until her head started spinning, at which point she had given up trying to understand and had simply accepted the fact that a coil of wire could move all by itself.

  Billy was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the office, completely absorbed in the toy. His clothes—the same knee-breeches and dingy white shirt he always wore—were ragged and dirty, and he constantly scratched himself. Mara refused to speculate on what tiny creatures might have made Billy their home, but she decided it was time to do something about it.

  But when she broached the subject to Billy, he balked. "What? Put myself all in the water? Not me." With that declaration, he raced out of the office as if demons were after him.

  Mara watched him run away and sighed. The boy needed a good scrubbing, and she intended to make sure he received it. But Billy guessed her intentions and didn't return that day.

  Undeterred, she began her campaign the following morning. After visiting the baths herself, she went to Cheapside and did some shopping. Then she went in search of Nathaniel and found him in his laboratory. She greeted him by thrusting a stack of new clothes into his arms.

  "Hullo," he said, looking at her over the pile. "What's this?"

  "New clothes for Billy," she said, adding two clean

  towels to the pile. "It's nearly afternoon and he'll be here any minute. You are taking him to the baths."

  "I am?"

  "Yes," she said firmly and placed a small crock of soft lye soap atop the towels. "He smells to high heaven, and I can't stand it any longer. It's obvious his father won't take him. So you have to do it."

  "But I've already taken a bath today. Besides, aren't we meeting with Michael this afternoon?"

  She added a can of kerosene to the stack. "It won't hurt you to take another bath. I'll meet with Michael and let you know what we discussed."

  He looked down into her determined face and knew she was serious, but he felt compelled to point out the obvious. "He won't like it."

  "Too bad."

  "Why don't you take him?"

  "Nathaniel, that boy worships you. He'd go with you much more easily than he would me."

  He acknowledged the truth of that with a sigh. "All right," he agreed reluctantly and glanced at the items in his arms. "Kerosene?"

  "For the lice."

  "Lice?" Nathaniel started to change his mind.

  She nodded. "Lice, fleas, and whatever else he has. You'll have to scrub him with it. Then use the soap."

  "I understand."

  Quick and eager footsteps on the stairs told them Billy had arrived.

  "Make sure he washes behind his ears," she added last-minute instructions in a whisper. "And for heaven's sake, keep him away from gas jets."

  "Yes, ma'am." He shifted the bundle in his arms to raise one hand in a mock salute before stepping around her and leaving the laboratory.

  ***

  Two hours later, Mara was seated at her desk, discussing the final production schedule and product line with Michael, when the voice of a very impatient eight-year-old intruded on their meeting.

  "Ma'am, ma'am!"

  She looked toward the doorway as Billy ran into the room. He raced for her desk, skidding to a halt beside her chair. "What ye think?"

  "Well, now," she murmured, pretending puzzlement. "Who's this?"

  "It's me, Billy." He pointed a finger to his chest.

  "Billy Styles?" She shook
her head. "No, it can't be. Billy Styles doesn't wear clean white shirts and smell nice like soap."

  Billy squared his shoulders proudly, "'e does now."

  She leaned forward, studying him more closely. His hair was still damp, but it was clean. The clothes she'd bought fit him quite well, with a bit of room to grow. Even his boots had been polished. She smiled. "Billy Styles, as I live and breathe. It is you."

  "Nathaniel took me t'the baths, 'e poured that kero...kero..."

  "Kerosene?"

  He nodded. "All over me. An' scrubbed me with it." He made a face. "It makes yer 'ead sting." His words came tumbling out as he explained. "An' then 'e threw me in the tub full o'water and scrubbed me with the soap. I didn't like it at first, ma'am, but then it wasn't so bad. Nathaniel 'elped me comb me 'air an' gave me these new clothes, 'e said you bought 'em an' I like 'em so much. Thank ye, ma'am," he ended breathlessly.

  She laughed. "You're welcome, Billy. You'll take good care of them won't you?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She brushed back a lock of his long hair, curling it to a perfect swirl on his brow. "You look very handsome."

  "I do?"

  "Yes," she said and grasped his smaller hands in hers. Squeezing them, she repeated, "Very handsome, indeed."

  She looked over the boy's head and smiled at Nathaniel, who was standing in the doorway, watching them. His hair was also damp, tousled, and beginning to curl at the collar of his white shirt.

  "Both of you," she added and watched Nathaniel's smile widen at the compliment.

  Realizing what she'd said, Mara released Billy's hands and turned her head away, only to find Michael's surprised gaze fixed on her. She felt herself blushing and didn't know where to look.

  Billy gave her sleeve a tug. "I've got t'go, ma'am. Nathaniel an' me 'ave to go shopping."

  "Shopping?" She glanced up as Nathaniel approached the desk, and she noticed the smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. "Why do you need to do any shopping?"