Promise of the Valley

by Jane Peart

  Suddenly a fierce longing to tell her what was in his heart gripped him. But he knew it was too soon. To make such a declaration after so short an acquaintance would frighten someone like Addie, gently reared, not long from the strict social protocols of the East, especially the South. He must bide his time, give her time to get to know him, to know the life of the valley she would have to learn to live if—if—

  He wanted so much to share everything with her, his hopes, his dreams, his accomplishments, as well as his failures and disappointments. He wanted to share his life with her. That's why he had wanted to bring her up here to meet the Bairds, to see him through their friendship. He said her name over and over to himself—Adelaide, Adelaide, my love, my wife! The word touched him with a deep sweetness. There was a sense of inevitability about it. Why else had she come from half a world away, across the plains, across the country—to this place and time in both their lives?

  As if his thoughts had somehow reached her, Addie turned and smiled at him, and his heart lurched. It had to happen. It had to be. He was determined it would be.

  "I like your friends," she said.

  "I'm glad. I hoped you would." He smiled back at her. "I was fairly sure you would—being the discerning person you are."

  She laughed softly, tipped her head to one side. "What gives you the idea I'm discerning?"

  "I could tell—"

  "But you hardly know me."

  "That's true, not as well as I want to." Rex paused. "I'd like to know everything about you, Addie. So, tell me," he urged. "I'd like to know about you, your childhood, your home, and family."

  "Well, there's not that much to tell, really. When I try to think of how it was before the war, it's hard to remember. One tends to romanticize the past, especially a past that is irrevocably gone—forever." She looked wistful. "The war changed everything for us, you see."

  "The war all seemed to be happening so far from here—a long way away. We didn't seem to be part of it. California had its own problems at the time—I was working as a reporter covering the gold mines in the northern territory while it was going on."

  "You should be glad you were." She shook her head. "And it was all such a terrible waste—of men and lives—young women left widows, children orphans, families destroyed—all so needlessly. And what did it really accomplish?"

  "Freedom?" Rex's question was gentle. "For the black slaves."

  "Yes, perhaps. But also years of bitterness and unforgiveness on both sides," Addie replied. "I know my father was concerned about what would happen to the slaves—after it was all over. He was afraid it would take at least a generation until the country would really be one nation again."

  Addie felt her old sadness as she remembered her father. He had been a man of wisdom, vision, and compassion. If he had lived he might have helped bring healing.

  They fell silent, each pondering the other's words. Addie considered Rex's comment to her question of what the war had actually accomplished. Freedom, for the black slaves. But in a strange way it had also brought her freedom, she thought with some surprise. For all its devastation, deprivation, destruction, pain, and loss, she had gained a freedom she would never have dreamed of before the war. If the war had not happened, she certainly would never have come to California! Unconsciously she turned and looked at Rex. She thought, And I would never have met Rex Lyon.

  "Tell me what it was like for you when you were a little girl."

  Addie's expression grew thoughtful. "I guess you'd say my childhood was ideal. I had loving parents, doting grandparents, uncles, aunts who cared for me, cousins to play with, parties to go to. But I always felt that ..." She halted.

  "What did you feel? Go on, Addie, tell me."

  "Well, it'll probably sound strange, but it was as if I was always waiting for my real life to begin, as if there were something missing, that I hadn't found yet." She felt his eyes upon her and she laughed a little self-consciously. "Oh, my, that does sound fanciful, doesn't it?" She reached for her hat, straightened it on her head and tied the ribbons.

  "I guess we'd better get started back," Rex said reluctantly. He rose, then held out his hand to pull her to her feet. Looking about her, she sighed.

  "It's so beautiful here."

  "We'll come back another time," Rex promised.

  Addie's heart lifted, happy that Rex said they would come back, that there would be other days spent together like this.

  The sun sent long shadows on the hillside as they left the Bairds' idyllic kingdom hidden away in the hills. Addie could not remember when she had wanted so much to see a day last longer.

  Finally they said their good-byes to the Bairds and started down the rocky, winding trail back to town. It was all over too soon, Addie thought. Evening was coming on by the time they reached Calistoga and approached Silver Springs. A sense of melancholy overtook Addie the closer they got to the resort. They walked their horses through Silver Springs gate and dismounted in front of the main building. Rex tethered both horses to the hitching post. Overhead the sky had turned a lavender gray. Tiny pinpricks of stars were beginning to show, and a thumbnail moon shone palely through the trees.

  No one was in sight. It was after six, and Addie knew all the guests were in the dining hall. She was glad. She didn't want to see anyone, have anyone break the spell of this lovely day. As they strolled across the grounds toward her cottage, Rex's hand brushed hers, then took it, held it tight. She did not withdraw it. Instead her fingers interlaced with his. She felt the roughness of his palm against her own, the pulse of his wrist beating against hers. When they reached the cottage, Addie slowly relinquished Rex's hand.

  "It was a wonderful day, Rex."

  He stepped up on the porch beside her. His nearness made her breathless and she dared not move or turn. But then he touched her gently, turning her toward him. "I wish this day could go on forever," Rex said. Addie drew in a deep breath and as she did, he raised her chin with his finger, and for a moment all their unspoken feelings trembled between them.

  Then she was in his arms, her face upturned, and he leaned down to kiss her. When it ended, Rex said quietly, "I've been wanting to do that all day. Maybe even longer. Since that first day—Addie. I don't know how to say this—except that now, I think I know why I came back to the valley—"

  "Don't!" she said gently, placing her fingers on his mouth. "It's ... too soon, it's ... We must get to know each other—give ourselves time."

  For some reason Juliet's words to Romeo from the world's most famous romance came into her mind. This was all happening too quickly, too suddenly "like summer lightning."

  Slowly Rex let her go, holding her at arm's length.

  "Yes, of course, you're right. I won't say any more. For now—"

  She felt his fingers press her upper arms and understood how much it was taking him to control his emotion. She shivered slightly.

  "I better go in. Good night, Rex."

  "May I?" he asked softly leaning down to kiss her again.

  "Good night," she said breathlessly and hurried into the cottage, down the hall to her room.

  Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it for a minute, pressing her hands against her breast, feeling her racing heart. She closed her eyes savoring what had just happened, the strength of Rex's embrace, the warmth of his lips on hers.

  When she opened her eyes they fell upon the picture of Ran. Were those clear eyes accusing her of faithlessness? Had she in the space of one afternoon forgotten him, what he had meant to her, what they had meant to each other? Had she betrayed him by what she felt for Rex Lyon?

  She crossed the room, picked up the framed photograph, studied the face of the man—the boy, really, only twenty when this picture was taken. That was before Ran had gone to war or known its madness or paid its ultimate cost. It was a handsome face, the eyes looking out at the world with hope and confident expectation that life was good and fair and decent. It was a kind face, a gentle one in which she saw no rebuk
e.

  They had been so very young. Oh, Ran, she thought, we never even got a chance to find out who either of us really was—or could become. If he had come back—but he hadn't and there was no use trying to imagine what would have happened.

  Still holding his picture, Addie knew looking at Ran was looking backward, to a time and place, a way of life, that could never come back. Ten years had passed. She was a different person than the girl this young soldier had left when he had ridden away to battle. If he had lived Ran would be different, too, from the man she remembered.

  It was time to put the past to rest, to allow new thoughts and ideas and a new self emerge. Carefully wrapping the portrait of Ran in tissue paper, she pulled out her trunk from underneath the bed, opened it, and placed the picture at the bottom.

  As she closed the lid she thought of the Scripture verse that Aunt Susan often quoted: Philippians 3:13, "Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead—" Addie knew she should be thinking about the future. What was her future? Was it here in California? And was Rex Lyon a part of that future?

  It was hard to trust her own judgment about Rex. She wished Emily were here to confide in, advise her as she had all the years they were growing up together, sharing secrets.

  Unconsciously, Addie put her fingers to her lips, tracing their outline, thrilling again to Rex's kiss. Was what she had felt real? Or had she been swept away by a dream of her own making?

  The next morning while Mrs. Amberly was over at the bathhouse Addie took one of her favorite Jane Austen novels and went outside. The weather was spring-like and warm. It would be pleasant to sit on one of the iron-lace benches near the arboretum to read. However, her mind kept drifting from the page to the picnic yesterday. Thoughts of Rex distracted her.

  She felt sure he had been about to tell her he loved her before she stopped him. How would she have responded if he had? She wasn't sure, she didn't know. Addie knew he had awakened something in her she had never experienced.

  She had had plenty of beaux back in Virginia. But even Ran had not drawn the kind of response from her she felt with Rex Lyon. The more she saw of him, the more she wanted to know, to discover. It was more than his rugged good looks, his outward attractiveness. She knew, somehow, there were layers to him yet to unfold if only she got to know him better. She felt instinctively if that happened—

  "Daydreaming, Miss Pride?" Brook's teasing voice made her jump. His shadow fell over the unread page and she looked up into his laughing face. "Lost in reverie? You seemed to be. You have a dazed look in your eyes! Aha! A certain glow—can I guess what gives you that special glow this morning?"

  Addie put a finger in her book to mark the page, closed it and gave Brook a mildly reproachful look. "Aren't you ever serious?"

  "But I am serious. You do look especially radiant. Could riding off on horseback with a handsome rancher yesterday have something to do with it?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

  "We had a lovely time," she answered primly. "We took a picnic and visited some friends of his."

  "Aha! I can guess who they were. Rob Baird and his wife? Correct?"

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  "They stayed here for a week when they first came from San Francisco. In that cottage over there, as a matter of fact." Brook pointed to the first one in the row. "That is until they moved to a more private, if rustic place—seeking more solitude. They're on their honeymoon, or did you know?"

  "Yes, Rex told me."

  Brook paused for a moment. "Do you know the circumstances?"

  "Yes, if you mean what I think."

  "Well!" Brook sounded both surprised and pleased. "I'm very impressed, Miss Pride. Gratified. You have fulfilled my estimation of you. That you are able to see beyond the circumstances that some would not. In fact, some would even condemn."

  "To be honest, at first I was a little shocked. But after Rex explained what they had been through, I couldn't help but admire—even envy—them for having such a great love and faith in each other."

  "Love endureth all things," Brook quoted, giving her a speculative look. "Would it shock you to know I am somewhat in the same circumstances?"

  Addie turned a startled face toward him.

  "You mean—you're—?"

  "Not divorced. An early marriage—annulled. My fault entirely. Of course, I was too young. We were both too young. Childhood sweethearts. Everyone paired us off early, expected us to . . . even though I was way too unsettled to have ever gotten married in the first place. I always had this reckless, adventurous streak, I guess you'd call it. I wanted to come West, had 'gold fever' like so many did—and my child bride wouldn't come with me. Wouldn't even come join me after I sent her the money." He shrugged. "We were together less than a few weeks and never—well, I don't blame her. By the time I got the papers saying she had the marriage annulled, charging me with desertion, I had already made my first fortune!" He paused, sighed, shrugged. "I'm not proud of any of this, you know. All I can say is that when I came to California, I changed, or it changed me. I'm not the man—or rather the boy—I was then." He stopped abruptly, gave Addie a rueful grin, saying, "Then you would forgive my dark past?" Brook seemed suddenly serious as though it really mattered to him.

  "Of course. My father used to say 'to understand all is to forgive all.'"

  "Well and wisely put. All that's over and done with, and I believe we should put the past behind us—move on to the next horizon!"

  "Of course, I believe that," Addie agreed. "That's what I'm trying to do too."

  "Good! And if you're really looking into the future, Addie, you couldn't find a better man than Rexford Lyon," Brook said emphatically. "I applaud him on his good taste, as well."

  Addie felt warmth rising into her cheeks at this.

  "Well, I must be off," Brook said with a sigh. "Must get back to the books, my ledgers. I've been working on my monthly accounts, trying to make both ends meet. A hopeless task, keeping one jump ahead of the sheriff so to speak." He laughed, started away, then turned back. "What are you reading?"

  Addie held up the book so he could read the title.

  "Pride and Prejudice. That's a provocative title. Is it interesting?"

  "Yes, it's a good story, but there's a lot of wisdom in it too."

  "Such as?"

  "The foolish foibles of society, the pretenses people go to great lengths to maintain—in other words, pride and prejudice."

  Brook nodded, then quoted, "Pride, the never failing vice of fools."

  "And yet there is some pride that is understandable, isn't there?" Addie asked thoughtfully. "Family pride, for instance. I was brought up on that. Being always careful not to do anything to bring dishonor on it."

  "I seriously doubt you would ever do anything other than heap glory on your family name," Brook declared. "Well, I really must get back. Good day to you. Keep happy, Addie." He strode back toward the main building.

  After Brook left her, Addie mused over their conversation. Brook was certainly a man of many facets. On one hand, he seemed always to be in high spirits, confident, assured. No one would ever guess there was a brooding side, a past he regretted, hopes unfulfilled, love lost.

  Addie opened her book but somehow she could not concentrate on it. Her thoughts turned again to yesterday, to Rex. The ride up into the hills, the slanting sun shining through the leaves, the smell of sun-warmed grass and of orange—a day to remember always, a day that shone bright with sunshine against the shadows of what lay ahead.

  Chapter 13

  Taking up her chores as companion to Mrs. Amberly seemed more tedious than ever after the day with Rex and the picnic with the Bairds. That day Addie had caught a glimpse of something new—that life could be joyous and interesting even if it was different, and that happiness was possible in many unexpected ways if it was shared with someone you loved.

  In spite of all the Bairds had been through—separation, sickness, sorrow—they had not let
it embitter them. They had known disappointment, delays, difficulties of all kinds, the ostracism of society because of Nan's divorce, and who knows what else. They valued each other and what they had found together. It had made Addie see everything in a different light.

  Only a few months ago, life had seemed leaden; now it had endless possibilities. How much she had learned, changed, and grown since setting out for California.

  More and more she was beginning to believe there had been a purpose behind it all. One that was becoming more and more clear. Rexford Lyon. Was he the real reason she had come?

  Thoughts of Rex Lyon were the last she had at night, the first that entered her mind in the morning. What they had talked about, what they had shared, especially the memory of the kiss lingered.

  But the weekend passed without any word from him. On Monday she thought there might be a note suggesting plans for them to spend the following Thursday together. But there was nothing, and Addie felt a slight uneasiness of doubt. Perhaps she had imagined a meaning where none existed? Had his kiss really meant Rex felt something deep and tender and passionate for her? Or had it been only her imagination?

  Tuesday morning the desk clerk told her there was mail for her in her box. In happy anticipation she tore open the envelope. But instead of the note she hoped for from Rex, to her disappointment it was from Louis Montand. He asked if he could call for her Thursday morning before noon and bring her out to the new house for lunch with him and Estelle?

  Addie debated. Should she wait another day to see if Rex came by or sent a note? Maybe she was expecting too much, being too sensitive. After all he was a busy rancher with a vineyard to oversee, a business to run. He had told her his days went from sunup to sundown. She would rather think he was working too hard to get away than that she had mistaken his interest in her.

  For a moment, she held Louis's note. Then with a sigh of resignation she decided to accept that it would be better than spending her day off at the resort. If she remained here most certainly Mrs. Amberly would find some excuse to give her a chore or an errand to run. It would be safer to be gone. After all, Louis was amusing and it would be a distraction from her own nagging worries and useless wondering about Rex Lyon.