Laura and the Lawman

by Shelley Cooper

  “Aren’t you interested in learning more about Vincent and Serena? After all, we’ve been poking about in their things for two days now. I should think you’d want to get inside their heads as much as I do.”

  Not if it meant putting his head together with hers. Dusting off his hands, Antonio moved over to a maple dry sink that looked as if it dated from a time before Vincent made it big.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll keep on working.”

  “Don’t be such an old stick-in-the-mud,” she chided, then patted the trunk lid. “Sit here with me, or pull up a crate, if you’d like. We both need a break. I insist. You especially, Michael, since you only took a couple of minutes for lunch.”

  It was obvious she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Unless he wanted to face a whole host of questions he didn’t want to answer, he’d be better off just giving in.

  “I’ll stand here, if that’s okay with you.”

  Ruby shot him a curious look, but refrained from further comment. After loosening the ribbon that had been tied around the bundle of letters, she picked up the first envelope and extracted the pages it contained. Handling the thin sheets carefully, she read:

  “January 15, 1942.

  Darling,

  You have been gone but an hour, yet already it feels like years. I walk through our little home, and I see touches of you everywhere. Your magazines and your books. Your guitar propped in the corner. The gloves hanging in the garage that you always wear when you work in the garden. The cup you drank your coffee from at breakfast this very morning, and which I cannot bring myself to wash. Each time I look at these things that remind me of you, I get a huge lump in my throat, and it is all I can do not to burst into tears.

  This is the first time we have been apart since our fateful meeting in the children’s home fourteen years ago. Is that memory still as vivid for you as it is for me? It seems like only yesterday that I saw you, and you pulled my hair and called me midget. To my everlasting shame, I kicked you in the shin. Oh, how I hated you!

  I used to pray every night—of course, we all did—for a family to step forward and adopt me. After your arrival, I prayed even harder. Then suddenly my prayers changed, and I pleaded with God that no one step forward and adopt either one of us. Because that would have taken me from you, and you from me.

  I know most people would scoff that, at eight and ten, we couldn’t possibly have fallen in love, that we were too young and naive to know the way of our own hearts. But they are the ones who lack understanding. They are the ones who are naive. Though separate and distinct, in spirit we are truly one. Others find it odd that we are so devoted to each another. Sometimes I think they are even threatened by our closeness and, perhaps, somewhat resentful. I certainly find it sad how most of the married people we know don’t devote more love and attention to the person with whom they have chosen to travel this journey through life.

  Speaking of journeys… Right now, beloved, as you travel to North Carolina for your training, there are only two states separating us. Soon, all too soon, however, there will be an ocean, and guns and bombs. How my poor heart quails to think of it! I should hate the army for taking you from me, but of course I can’t. The cause is a just and righteous one.

  If only God had seen fit to bless us with a child, it might be easier for me with you gone. But I haven’t yet given up hope that, after your return, we will be thus blessed. In the meantime I take comfort in all the good things He has already bestowed upon us. If this is all I am to have, it will be more than enough.

  I know, darling, that my letters to you are supposed to be cheerful, but please indulge me just this once as I express my grief at being apart from you. After this one day of feeling sorry for myself, I promise to keep my chin up and to think only good thoughts. After all, my sacrifice is insignificant in comparison to what you and your fellow soldiers have given up to fight for our country. I am so very proud of you, Vincent, and I will do everything in my power to keep the home fires burning brightly until your return.

  Your devoted wife,

  Serena”

  Ruby slowly lowered the letter to her lap. There was a faraway light in the eyes she raised to him.

  “So they were both orphans,” she murmured. “That explains so much.”

  Despite his intention to remain aloof, Antonio had found himself caught up in Serena’s words, and in the rise and fall of Ruby’s voice as she read them out loud. “You mean, why Vincent left his estate to his former employees.”

  She nodded. “Since he and Serena never did have children, I suppose there was no one else to leave it to.”

  “There was charity,” he pointed out.

  “Maybe,” Ruby ventured, “he thought of his workers as family. They certainly thought highly of him.”

  Antonio recalled her telling him how they had insisted that Joseph handle the disposition of Vincent’s estate in a certain manner. He also tried—and failed—to picture Joseph leaving his estate to his employees. And as much as he liked and respected his superiors, he would be astonished if one of them left him anything in their wills.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “Vincent identified with his workers, and that’s how they grew close. How did he make his living before he opened his marble factory?”

  “It’s my understanding he worked in a coal mine.”

  Antonio found himself smiling. “From lumps of coal to marbles. Not such a huge leap, I suppose.”

  “But a profitable one,” Ruby said.

  “And a lot easier on the lungs.”

  She picked up the next envelope. “This one’s from Vincent,” she said, extending it toward him.

  Her intent was plain. “You want me to read it?”

  “You can read, can’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Aren’t you even curious to find out how it all ends?”

  “I know how it ends, Ruby. Vincent makes it home safely. He builds a marble factory and earns a fortune. They live happily ever after. Then she dies, and he loses all interest in life until he finally dies, too. What else is there to know?”

  “For starters,” she challenged, “why you’re so reluctant to read one little letter out loud. What are you afraid of, Michael?”

  That if he let himself get all caught up in her excitement over her find, he’d do something stupid. “That if we don’t get this work done, we’ll be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere for an extra day or two.”

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  “What else could it be?”

  She tilted her head and studied him. “Maybe you’re just a sentimental softy, and you’re terrified someone will find out.”

  “That someone being you?”

  “You see anyone else here? Don’t worry, Michael. I’m good at keeping secrets. I won’t tell.”

  His fellow cops, Antonio knew, would roll on the floor laughing their heads off at the thought that he was either sentimental or a softy. His family, on the other hand, might be inclined to agree with Ruby. It was a certainty that Michael would definitely be offended to be considered, either.

  Then there was the mention of secrets. Ruby might be keeping a few that it would be to his advantage to uncover. Which meant he had to placate her.

  “I’m not sentimental,” he said. “And I’m definitely not a softy.”

  She waved the letter at him. “Prove it.”

  Antonio moved to stand at her shoulder. Reluctantly he plucked the pages from her fingers.

  “‘January 15, 1942,’” he read slowly. “‘Somewhere in Virginia.’” He looked up. “That’s the same day Serena wrote her letter. The day Vincent left.”

  “And you said you weren’t interested,” she chided gently.

  Ignoring her, Antonio kept reading:

  “Beloved wife,

  Please forgive the unsteady penmanship, but I am on a moving train. I suppose I should wait until I arrive at my posting to write this, but I
find that I cannot. I have never considered myself to be a sentimental man. Nor have I been a man to speak of his feelings with flowery words and fanciful images. You know me, Serena. I’m more likely to tug on your hair and call you midget than to bring you flowers and quote the great poets. Yet, as I leave you for an unknown length of time, I now understand what inspired those poets. Love.

  I watched you waving goodbye to me today at the train station, your face pinched and worried, the tears threatening to fall from your beautiful eyes, and all I could think of was the little girl I met fourteen years ago in an orphanage. Did I ever tell you how terrified I was that day? I was ten years old, my parents had just died, and I had no other family to take me in. Though I had always felt somewhat set apart, even when my parents were alive, never had I felt so alone.

  Then I saw you standing there, staring at me. Your long brown hair was braided, you had freckles on your nose and cheeks, and your big brown eyes were so solemn. I just couldn’t resist. I reached out and tugged on your braids and called you midget. And you glared at me and kicked me in the shin.

  In that orphanage, Serena, I found the part of me that had always been missing. I found you, the love, the meaning of my life, and it all but tears my heart out to leave you behind. If you had asked me to stay, I don’t know if I would have found the strength to board this train.

  Even now, halfway into my journey, part of me wants to get off at the next stop and return to the loving comfort of your arms. However, I could not, in all good conscience, enjoy the precious freedoms we cherish in this land if I did not take a stand to preserve them. I will try to do my duty with courage and skill, as I know you will do yours here, at home.

  And so, my beloved, I go off to war. But I do not go alone. At my side are hundreds and thousands of fine, upstanding young men. And in my heart is you. It is your sweet, beloved face and the memory of the heaven to be found in your embrace that will carry me through the difficult times that I know are coming. God willing, I will return to you soon. Until then, I impatiently count the hours.

  Your husband,

  Vincent”

  “Now that,” Ruby said softly, and on a sigh, “is what I call a love letter.”

  It was what Antonio called sheer bravery. The letter had affected him deeply. When Vincent wrote of how he had felt when he had first seen Serena, Antonio had immediately recalled his first glimpse of Ruby across the crowded auction floor.

  Of course, any similarity between Vincent and Serena, and Ruby and himself ended there. Not only had Ruby pledged herself to another man, but Serena and Ruby were two entirely different women. It wasn’t just because Ruby was a much more attractive woman. There was no doubt in his mind that, inwardly, Serena Bickham had the leading edge on beauty. The most compelling evidence for that argument was that she had stuck by Vincent’s side when he was nothing but a poor coal miner, and she hadn’t seemed to care whether or not he wanted to do anything else with his life. Antonio couldn’t imagine Ruby doing the same.

  “He sure put it out there in the open, for everyone to see,” he said.

  Ruby’s gaze was curious. “You mean the way he told Serena what she meant to him? You think that’s not manly?”

  “As a general rule, men don’t exactly share their feelings like that.” He leaned back against a support beam and crossed his legs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Vincent did write that he wasn’t a man prone to the use of flowery phrases. I suppose, though, when he was staring death in the face on his way to war, he felt it was important to let Serena know exactly what he was feeling.”

  “And he probably didn’t think anyone else besides Serena would ever read his words.” Ruby fingered the pearls at her neck. “That letter kind of makes all our problems seem trivial, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does,” he agreed.

  She seemed to hesitate. “Have you ever been that honest with a woman?”

  He was living a lie, yet Antonio couldn’t deny that his conversations with Ruby, despite the way they never failed to infuriate him, had been the most honest discussions he had ever had with a woman. Even so, he couldn’t imagine baring his soul to anyone the way Vincent had to his wife.

  “I’m the one who’s never had anything other than a fleeting relationship, remember?” he said.

  “How silly of me,” she replied, a wry twist to her mouth. “I can’t imagine how I forgot.”

  “What about you, Ruby? Have you been that honest with Joseph?”

  Her fingers went still. She dropped them from the necklace to her lap. “Joseph knows what my feelings are where he is concerned.”

  Which told him nothing. He nodded at the pile of letters. “I believe it’s your turn.”

  They continued on that way, Ruby reading Serena’s missives about rationing and war bonds and Serena’s taking a job so that she could accumulate a nest egg in anticipation of Vincent’s return; Antonio reading Vincent’s censored words about battles, wartime friendships and the sudden violent losses of the same, and the thrill and expectation that surrounded D-Day and both V-E and V-J days.

  Underneath each written word, though never expressly spelled out, he could feel both Serena’s and Vincent’s need and desire for each other. That need and desire grew with each letter, until it became almost a physical thing, a third presence in the room with them.

  Time passed, but neither he nor Ruby seemed aware of it. It was as if they were caught up in some magical spell that refused to let them go. At some point, he couldn’t exactly recall when, he actually sat down next to her on top of the trunk.

  “This is the last letter,” she finally said, holding it out to him.

  As if coming out of a trance, Antonio slowly raised his gaze to hers. For the first time he realized how closely they sat atop the old trunk, so close in fact that their legs touched at thigh and calf. A faint sheen of perspiration dotted her upper lip, and a smudge of dirt streaked her forehead. The heat of her skin seared him, and the fragrant aroma of her perfume cut through the mustiness on the air. Suddenly the temperature in the attic seemed to shoot up at least ten degrees, and he felt the fierce sweetness of desire beginning to unfurl deep inside him.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?” she asked.

  It was either that or kiss her, which would be a mistake of monumental proportions.

  Antonio managed to tear his gaze from her and gave a halting nod. With fingers that weren’t quite steady, he pulled the letter from its envelope. Drawing a ragged breath, he read:

  “October 28, 1945.

  Dearest Serena,

  At last, the news we have waited so long for. I’m coming home! By Thanksgiving Day we should be reunited, never to be apart again. It is all I can think of, and I walk around all day with a big, goofy smile on my face. Of course, I’m not the only one. Most of the men in my unit who got the same word I did are sporting the same silly grin.

  Now that I know I will be seeing you soon, I can let myself think of all the things I would not allow myself to think of, because they made me too homesick. These are probably not things I should be writing in such a public forum, but I have a feeling that, since all is said and done but the shouting, the censors aren’t as worried about military security as they used to be. Maybe this letter will reach you, unseen by other eyes. If another pair of eyes does happen to chance upon my words, I hope he has someone as wonderful as you waiting for him at home.

  My darling Serena, I can’t wait to take you in my arms again, to feel the softness of your lips against mine. I hope you’re not planning on wearing clothes for the first few weeks, sweetheart, because I don’t plan on letting you out of my arms or our bed. Making love to you and with you is the only thing I can think of. The rest—a job, our future, the world—can wait until later. Much, much later. Until Thanksgiving, I am as ever,

  Your husband,

  Vincent”

  There was a long, taut silence after Antonio finished reading. It wasn’t so much that Vincent’s words had put certain im
ages into his mind—although they were definitely there—but Ruby’s reaction to them that got to him.

  The eyes she trained on him were huge and shone a little too brightly. Her lips trembled, and a lone tear slowly made its way down her cheek. She didn’t bother to hide the emotion or to brush the tear away, and he was deeply touched by how much she truly seemed to care about two people she had never met.

  Never had she seemed more beautiful to him. From that point on, Antonio knew he would forever hold that image of her in his mind.

  “I guess I’m the one who’s the sentimental softy,” she said, her smile a little misty.

  “Maybe,” he admitted, “we both are.”

  “Watch out, Michael,” she teased. “If you’re not careful, soon you’ll be whispering sweet nothings into my ear.”

  He knew she was trying to lighten the mood. Still, he couldn’t keep his heart from thundering and his gaze from focusing more intently on her.

  “Would you like me to?” he asked softly.

  He heard the swift catch of her breath, saw the unmistakable parting of her lips.

  “I said it once before, Ruby, and I’ll say it again.” He leaned in close to her. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”

  “Michael.”

  The word was both a protest and an invitation. Antonio reached out a hand and slid it along the smooth line of her jaw. When his fingers reached the back of her neck, he pressed them gently into her skin. Slowly, with their gazes locked together, he drew her toward him. When finally only mere millimeters separated them, and he could feel the sweetness of her breath on his face, he closed his eyes and dropped his mouth to hers.

  Unheeded, the letters fell to the floor.

  Chapter 10

  H e never meant for the kiss to get out of hand. When his mouth closed over Ruby’s, Antonio expected the experience to mirror every first kiss he’d ever exchanged with a woman. Somewhat tentative at first, while they grew accustomed to the taste and feel of each other. Then nice. Pleasurable. Maybe even a little passionate. And ultimately, when all was said and done, forgettable.