A Gentle Fragrance

by Pamela Griffin

  “Those things are all well and good, but I meant to show her in a more personal manner. A poem, a touch, a kiss.” Brent reddened. “Surely I don’t need to go into detail. I know you were quite the ladies’ man. Women like romance. Be a romantic, but most importantly be considerate of her feelings and put her best interests before your own.”

  Bill wondered how Sarah would respond to such overtures. With acceptance and joy, or with no expression whatsoever? He sighed, then directed his thoughts to his brother. “You’ve changed a lot in fourteen months. There was a day when you would never speak so openly about personal matters.”

  “Being married to Darcy does that to a person.” Brent smiled. “I fear her spontaneity and proclivity to speak her mind have rubbed off on me somewhat.”

  “There you go with those big fancy words again,” Bill mocked, more in amusement than ridicule. “You know, I used to envy you all your knowledge and your ability to make something worthwhile of yourself. Someone people could look up to and admire.”

  Brent’s face went slack in shock, and his mouth fell open. “You admired me?”

  “Still do.”

  “I always assumed you thought little of me.”

  Bill could understand why, recalling past unkind remarks to Brent. “I think part of why I talked the way I did had to do with your Christianity. I didn’t understand it, and in a bizarre way that you probably wouldn’t understand, it threatened me. My words to you were more of a defense, but yeah, Brent, I’ve always thought you were quite a whiz, the best brother a guy could have. You always had the smarts up here.” Bill tapped the side of his head. “Ever since we were kids.”

  Brent removed his spectacles, foggy with what looked suspiciously like tears, and cleared his throat. “In those days, I thought you were a really swell guy, too.”

  Bill stared, this time the one to let his mouth hang open.

  Brent chuckled. “Surely you must realize that, being a schoolmaster to fifteen boys from all walks of life, I’ve heard my share of slang.”

  “Well, yeah, I know you’ve heard it. But I never thought I’d hear you say it.”

  Polishing the mist from his spectacles, Brent again replaced them on his head and leveled a steady look at Bill. “Should you make mention of the fact, I will aggressively deny it. After all, I have a reputation as a stuffy schoolmaster to uphold.” His light tone belied his grim words.

  Bill chuckled, liking this change in his brother. Mentally, he took off his hat to Darcy, certain her love had been the needed factor to get Brent to lose some of his somberness.

  Brent rose from the table. “Now, why don’t you come and join the rest of the family for luncheon? Unless you truly would prefer to eat your sandwich in here?”

  The invitation and inclusion of Bill in the word family had been the first sign of acceptance on Brent’s part since Bill arrived at the refuge almost a week ago.

  Feeling hopeful again, Bill nodded. “Thanks. Maybe I will join you guys after all.”

  He walked around the table to his brother, warmly clapping a hand to his shoulder for an instant, and followed Brent to one of the dining tables.

  Fifteen hungry, impatient, lively boys waited. Bill noticed his chair wasn’t the only one vacant.

  “Where’s Darcy?” Brent asked, taking his chair.

  “She went up to take a plate to Sarah.” Charleigh tied a napkin around her small daughter’s chin. Clementine sat in a highchair, banging on the table with her palm, as if picking up on the boys’ impatience. “Hush, Clemmie, that’s no way to act.”

  “She’s been gone for ages,” Joel, a blond scamp said. “I think she musta got lost.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we began the meal without her.” Charleigh took the plump hand of her little girl and of the boy to her right. Her husband, Stewart, sitting at the opposite end of the table, did the same to the boys on either side of him. Bill likewise took the hands of the little boys put on either side of him, reaching across Sarah’s empty chair to take Joel’s hand. The older boys at the other table did the same. As they all said grace, Bill wondered about Sarah, and silently added a prayer that God would help her. Help both of them.

  Eleven

  Sarah bent over the chamber pot in misery. She heard a light knock on the door, but before she could answer, her stomach released its contents again. She was barely aware of anyone entering the room.

  “Oh, my.” Darcy’s voice oozed compassion as the woman knelt beside Sarah and laid her palm against her back. “You poor lamb.”

  Spent, Sarah crawled back on her hands and knees and sat against the wall for support. She closed her eyes and heard Darcy rise. The clink of the pitcher and water pouring into the basin filled the quiet, and she sensed Darcy in front of her again. A cool, wet cloth was pressed to her forehead.

  “Thank you.” Sarah opened her eyes.

  Darcy regarded her, sympathy etched on her face. “Have you been this way long, luv?”

  “Three days. I cannot remember being sick a day in my life. The journey must have been too taxing, as Bill said. These past weeks, I’ve also been dizzy at times and must need more rest.”

  “In this matter, I think Bill is wrong. Not about the rest though.”

  She looked at Darcy in confusion, noticing the light dancing in her eyes.

  “Sarah.” Darcy pressed her hand against Sarah’s forearm, her action eager. “Unless I miss me guess—and I don’t think I do since I’ve seen the same before in Charleigh and meself—you are with child!”

  Sarah blinked, stunned by the words, though they rang true through her mind and settled deep within her heart. She had always been regular with her cycles and assumed the stressful journey had delayed it. A baby. . .Bill’s baby.

  A wondering smile lifted her lips. “A baby.”

  Darcy chuckled. “Seems to me you’ve recovered somewhat. I doubt you’d want the meal I brought up for you, so I’ll just take it away, shall I?”

  A stab of fear tore through the gilded dream, and Sarah grabbed Darcy’s arm. “What will I do? I know nothing of being a mother. I’ve helped to bring a child into the world in the village of my mother’s people, but that is all. I had no mother to teach me, and my aunt did not speak of such things.”

  Darcy patted her hand. “You’ll do fine. Something is inborn in a woman that God put there. I can’t explain it meself, but when the time comes that the babe is laid in your arms, you’ll know what to do. And I had twins my first experience!” She laughed.

  Even physically exhausted, Sarah caught onto Darcy’s words. “Your first. . .”

  Darcy nodded, her grin widening. “Aye, luv. I be in the same position as you. So what say we help one another and support each other when our times arrive?”

  Sarah felt reassured in knowing that they shared this bond. Another thought invaded, making her tremble.

  “Sarah?” Darcy’s brows pulled together in worry.

  “Don’t tell Bill. He must not know.”

  Darcy’s eyes widened in incredulous surprise. “And how do you plan on keepin’ it from him? When your stomach starts balloonin’ out, he’ll be bound to wonder.”

  Sarah averted her gaze, sliding her teeth over the edge of her upper lip. “There has been. . .difficulty between us.”

  “News of a babe coming into the world might help matters,” Darcy softly suggested.

  Or they might make things worse, and Bill might turn completely away from her.

  “Please, Darcy. I will tell Bill when I feel it is the proper time.”

  “It’s not me place to give such news to your husband, luv. Only Sarah, a word of caution. Charleigh did the same with Stewart, and I know she’ll not mind me tellin’ you, but it caused nothin’ but pain for the both of them. What she feared wasn’t true, and they could have both been saved a great deal of worryin’ if she’d been up front about it. Don’t wait too long.”

  Sarah closed her eyes, knowing Darcy was right, but at the same time, fearing sh
e might be wrong.

  ❧

  To Bill, Sunday morning at Lyons’ Refuge could best be described as well-ordered chaos. The entire household was swept into a whirlwind as Stewart, Charleigh, Brent, and Darcy rounded up all fifteen boys, saw to it they were clean and in their best clothes, fed them, hurried them, and then herded them into two Tin Lizzies and one horse-driven wagon for the mile-long ride to church.

  Lyons’ Refuge was a complete anomaly to Bill. He chuckled to himself at how quickly he’d picked up on Brent’s vocabulary to think of such a word. Little like a reformatory and more like a boys’ school, the motto at the refuge was: “Love tempered with discipline.” Bill saw evidence of that every day. Stewart and Charleigh, Brent and Darcy, never failed to listen to the young scamps, never failed to give a needed hug, but at the same time they meted out any deserved discipline. The punishment always fit the crime yet was constructive.

  When Clint wrote on the barnyard wall words and pictures of a crass nature, he was given the disciplinary action of painting the entire barn. Last evening after two boys, Joel and Herbert, got into a fight, they were made to sit on the same stair step and told they must remain there and would not receive supper until they worked out their differences in a mature fashion. When everyone gathered around the tables, Bill noticed the two boys were there, joshing each other and laughing, obviously the best of friends again.

  Sarah came downstairs. Bill pushed away further musings of the refuge and approached his wife. “Are you feeling better today?”

  “Yes, Bill. Thank you.” Her smile was faint. “I look forward to visiting an American church.”

  “Well, then. . .” He slipped his arm through hers. “Let’s not keep the others waiting.” She seemed improved, though he detected her slight trembling. “Did you eat breakfast?”

  She seemed to blanch. “I had a muffin and some berries. It was all I wanted.”

  Bill didn’t argue, but he didn’t like the fact that her appetite had diminished since they’d arrived in New York. The thought again brought guilt, since he knew her condition stemmed from her missing her father and her island.

  Angry with himself, though he’d only done what her father wanted by bringing Sarah to America, he gave a stiff nod and escorted her to one of the automobiles.

  At the little white church, the members of the refuge filled up three entire pews. Bill listened to the minister preach about deceit and was reminded of Josiah in that the preacher had the same quiet fervor as the missionary. Sarah, too, sat alert beside Bill, her attention riveted to the pastor, whether it was because of the message or the likeness to her father, Bill wondered.

  After the service, many came forward to greet the new-comers to Lyons’ Refuge. Bill was maddened at the haughty stares from two old crones directed to Sarah from across the room, likely because of her desire to wear her hair in one long braid and keep it uncovered. Or perhaps the women’s censure stemmed from the fact that Sarah was half Polynesian.

  He glared at the women who had the effrontery to think themselves superior to his wife and was satisfied when they grew flustered and averted their attention. No doubt they’d heard about Brent’s murdering mobster brother and feared what he might do to them. Not that Bill would hurt any woman, then or now. But it satisfied him to know he’d made an impact, which he hoped would mean an end to further hostilities directed toward Sarah. She seemed not to notice, but then her expression rarely gave away her feelings.

  The pastor welcomed both Bill and Sarah with sincere warmth, and shook Bill’s hand with gusto. “I’m Pastor Wilkins. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what, though I can imagine. Let me just state from the start, I’m not the same man I was.”

  “I’m relieved to know it.” The pastor’s eyes sparkled.

  “And this is my wife, Sarah.”

  “Hello, Sarah.” His smile was genuine. “It’s a pleasure to have you and your husband join our little community. You must meet my wife. She loves stories of adventure, and I’m certain she’d enjoy hearing about your island.”

  Bill looked around expectantly.

  “Sadly, she’s not here today. Her mother took ill, and she’s gone to visit her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Sarah looked at Bill, then back to the pastor. “May I ask a question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You spoke of Moses and Aaron and the golden calf. I have never heard this story. My father spoke mainly of the teachings in the New Testament. Is it truly a sin to pay homage to other gods? If one worships Jehovah as the main God, is it wrong to visit the temples of other idols?”

  Astounded at Sarah’s forthrightness, Bill realized she must have been accustomed to approaching her father with spiritual questions. The pastor didn’t seem one bit fazed by her candor, though a woman within hearing distance turned to look sharply at her, caught sight of Bill, and looked away again.

  “My first question to one who does these things is why visit the temples?”

  “Where I come from, the bond of family is strong.”

  “So it is to please family?”

  “In part. Also the curiosity to know and understand.”

  “I see.” The pastor’s expression became grave. He looked up, seeming to just notice they were drawing unwanted attention from a few women who had edged closer, though they appeared to be in quiet conversation with one another.

  He shook his head with an expression of frustrated tolerance, then returned his gaze to Sarah. “I should like to talk with you on this matter further. I’m sorry to say, this is not the time to do so. Perhaps later this week you can come by for a visit? I live in the brown house, farther down the road. My wife should have returned by Wednesday.”

  Sarah looked up at Bill. He nodded. “I’ll drive her here myself.”

  ❧

  The changes that took over her body confused and amazed Sarah but also stressed to her the truth of the matter. She was indeed with child. Most confusing to her was her wide range of emotions and how she could travel from joy and smiles to despair and tears within moments. Since the day they’d arrived at the refuge, every night Bill remained downstairs long after the household went to sleep. When he did come up, he slept on the sofa, though it looked uncomfortable despite the blanket he’d thrown over it. He had not touched Sarah or shared her bed since that night on the ship, and because of this, Sarah was able to hide her condition from him. When her stomach became queasy, it was an easy matter to slip from the room as Bill lay sleeping far on the other side, against the wall.

  Tonight as she quickly padded to the door, Bill stirred and rolled over onto his back. “Sarah?”

  Her heart jumped, and she willed it to be still. “I’m fine. I will be back in a moment.” Quickly she hurried out before he could stop her, afraid she would not make it in time. When she returned, shaky but relieved, Bill again lay sound asleep. Light snores whispered past his lips.

  The moon washed through the window, spilling onto the sofa. She went to stand before him, admiring his handsome face, which looked so like a little boy’s in slumber. No worry lines or tension marred his features in sleep. Unable to resist, she braced her hand against the sofa arm and bent to brush her fingertips against his smooth cheek.

  Would their son look like Bill?

  Would Bill welcome a child into his life?

  A swift rush of fearful uncertainty made her draw her hand away and return to her lonely bed. Their own troubles aside, Sarah knew Bill despised his father and had run away from home to escape the man’s severity. According to Bill, his father had loathed and ridiculed him, and his mother had shown no love either. Both brothers endured a childhood of sorrows, and Sarah wondered if Bill might now resent the babe that lay within her belly. Resent her for carrying this child.

  Torn by the thought, Sarah clutched the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut to try to thwart the hot tears that threatened. However could she bear it if Bill came to despise her? His apathy wa
s hard enough to endure, though at times he exhibited politeness or even gentle regard. Yet he acted nothing like he did on the island or during that one incredible night on the ship.

  Sarah curled on her side into a ball, fearful she had already lost him and not understanding the reason for it. If he did turn completely away from her, her heart would surely wither and die.

  Twelve

  Bill awoke from a dream, heart beating fast. Chased by Vittorio’s mobsters, he’d been cornered and had looked down the barrels of eighteen guns before their silent explosions shook him from sleep. He swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from his face. A woman’s muffled sobs startled him.

  Sarah?

  He sat up and looked toward the four-poster. In the moon’s glow, he could see that she lay on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow, shoulders shaking. Grief tore through his heart to witness her pain. Would this intense homesickness ever subside or, better yet, depart from her?

  He didn’t stop to consider his actions. His wife, who rarely showed emotion, was hurting deeply. Even if it was in part due to his action of bringing her here, Bill could not resist going to her. Approaching the bed, he felt a tug pull at his heart at how forlorn she looked among the expanse of white sheeting.

  He settled himself beside her and laid his hand on her back. “Sarah?”

  She stiffened, tried to capture her sobs.

  The pain in Bill intensified. No, Sarah, no. Don’t pull away from me again. Don’t retreat behind a mask of indifference, even if it’s all you feel toward me. Even if you can’t bring yourself to love me as I love you. These words he whispered in his heart; he didn’t dare air them aloud when he knew that to do so might again give her the power to wound him if she could not or would not reassure him his fears were in vain. If she didn’t respond.