A Gentle Fragrance

by Pamela Griffin

He moved closer and gathered her into his arms. Thankfully, she didn’t resist.

  Another torrent of tears soaked his nightshirt, which she clutched in one small hand. Closing his eyes, he held her tightly until the moon shifted and white light covered the counterpane. Even after she cried herself to sleep, Bill didn’t let go. Enjoying the feel of his wife in his arms, he also closed his eyes and slept.

  ❧

  Sarah awoke with the sense of something being different. Curious, she opened her eyes. She lay alone in her bed; a glance around the room showed Bill wasn’t anywhere in sight. Then she remembered. He had been there with her. He had held her the entire time she cried, and that was the last she remembered.

  Heat suffused her face. Her aunt Lefu would have been appalled to learn of Sarah’s weakness. “Never let your husband see you cry,” she had told Sarah one day. “It is a grave mistake, for then he will look upon you with contempt.” Though Sarah noticed not all of her aunt’s admonishments related to the way other village women acted, Aunt Lefu was highly respected by her husband and by all those in the village. She was a strong woman.

  For a moment, Sarah allowed herself to treasure the memory of being held against Bill’s warmth, feeling protected, his arms firmly around her. She sighed, wondering if he had pitied her weakness and that was why he’d come to her. Yet pity was just as bad as contempt. Sarah desperately wanted Bill’s respect, for him to think of her as strong. And she wanted his love.

  With a hopeless sigh, she pulled off the voluminous bed gown Charleigh had given her. Before dressing, she laid a hand against her bare stomach, thinking of the life inside her. Soon this child would grow, and her stomach would expand. She would have to tell Bill, but she could not bring herself to do so yet. She must find clothes to hide her condition.

  While she made her own sarongs on the island, she wasn’t familiar with the fashion of this drab-colored American dress that hung so slack, making her form almost boyish. Yet that was how Bill wanted her, so that is how she would be. She desperately wished to please her husband. It wasn’t so much a matter of subservience, though Sarah had been taught that, but the desire to do all she could to make Bill happy.

  Deciding she would speak to Darcy, Sarah washed her face of the dried tearstains, dressed, and went downstairs. As she reached the foyer, Bill walked in from the parlor.

  They both stopped, staring at one another.

  Smoothing her expression into blandness, Sarah waited. A barrage of thoughts volleyed against her mind. Pleasure at the memory of being held in his arms; fear that he now thought her weak and pitied her, or worse still, regarded her with contempt; apprehension at the somber look on his face. His eyes that she had thought gleamed upon seeing her now looked shuttered, closing her out.

  “Good morning, Sarah. You’re feeling better today I trust?”

  His cold, polite words struck her as surely as if he’d slapped her. She struggled to maintain her placid expression. “Yes, thank you. I feel as if I could eat breakfast.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He looked at her a moment longer, then gave a tight nod and left.

  At the click of the front door, all Sarah’s resolve to remain strong threatened to lift from her heart. But she firmed her shoulders and headed for the kitchen, while within, her world crumbled down around her feet.

  ❧

  Bill stared across the grounds, idly watching the boys do their chores. He had hoped that things would be different between them after last night. But again, Sarah had shunned him with her cool regard, blasted him with another of her well-aimed bullets to his seeking heart. If there had been the slightest flicker of expression on her face, the slightest amount of joy upon seeing him. . .

  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He would earn Sarah’s respect and love or die trying. He’d never treated her like other women he’d known—except for that one predatory kiss on the island that shamed him to this day—and he had no idea how to gain her love. His hopeless thoughts moved into a hopeful prayer, and that brought the memory of the pastor’s invitation three days ago.

  Today he would take her to see Pastor Wilkins, to talk with him and his wife. They needed time alone, away from the constant chaos of the refuge. Always someone stood nearby or walked into the room, interrupting them whenever he did try to talk with Sarah. Maybe he’d even take her on that promised picnic. Show her that hidden spot by the lake, which he’d found last week and knew she would enjoy. Sarah had said she was feeling better today, even talked about eating a meal.

  He would talk to Darcy, ask her to pack them a lunch, and surprise Sarah with his plan.

  ❧

  “What’s botherin’ you, luv?” Darcy asked as Sarah helped prepare breakfast by scrambling the eggs into a creamy batter so Darcy could cook them. “A sour stomach again?”

  “No, last night was bad. But today is better. The tea with mint helped.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I imagine you’ll want to be puttin’ off teachin’ the boys until this stage passes?”

  “Then it will pass?” The news relieved her. She was weary of feeling this way.

  “It did for me and Charleigh, when she carried Clemmie. I’m sure it will for you, too.” Darcy regarded her with compassion, then quit her task to put a motherly arm around Sarah. “You’re such a tiny thing, little more than a babe yourself.”

  Sarah might be young, but with all she’d endured, she felt as old as the wife of Tua, the chieftain of her mother’s tribe. True, she had turned seventeen only months ago, but a few girls on her island had already nursed their first babies at Sarah’s age.

  Still, Darcy’s gesture kindled a great need in Sarah, one missing ever since her mother died. The desperate urge to confide in someone overwhelmed her, and Darcy had been such a friend.

  Quietly, Sarah spoke, admitting her weakness, telling her of all the lessons her aunt had taught and how horribly she’d failed. How she did not know how to be strong. How she knew Bill must resent her or pity her.

  Darcy shook her head, her eyes wide in incredulity. “I ’ave never heard such a heap of horse rubbish in all me born days.”

  Wounded by the unexpected attack, Sarah began to withdraw.

  Darcy’s arm tightened. “No, no, not you, luv. As you know by now, I’m one t’ speak me mind and often blurt things out without thinkin’. But I’m here to tell you, those teachings of your aunt’s are pure rubbish. A man don’t think less kindly of his wife just because he sees her cry. Well, most men don’t, anyways, and I feel Bill is most men. If anything, it makes a man feel stronger, more of a protector—as a man needs to feel. And Bill surely doesn’t look at you with pity or contempt! Not from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t.”

  Recalling the stiffness on his face a moment ago, the ice frosting his blue eyes, Sarah shook her head. Darcy had not seen what she had seen.

  “There now, never mind. I think your aunt misled you into believin’ something that just isn’t so. The strength that you need for the bad days you can’t just pull up from inside you, Sarah. The strength has to come from somewhere on the outside. It doesn’t just grow inside your belly, like the babe you carry. That strength is God, and it’s Him you need to look to for help when times are hard.”

  Sarah vaguely nodded. “My father said that strength was Jehovah, and Jehovah Rapha means the God who heals.”

  “There now, you see!” Darcy pulled away, her eyes triumphant.

  “But my aunt said that strength came from many gods. And she is a very strong woman. Cannot both my father and my aunt be right?”

  Such a look of concerned pity filled Darcy’s eyes that Sarah looked away, almost ashamed to air such a question. She felt so confused.

  “I think Pastor Wilkins can better answer your questions and help you to understand more than I ever could, Sarah.” Darcy gave a faint smile. “Say, why don’t you come to Manhattan with Charleigh and meself? Stewart is taking us there next week. He needs to talk with a judge, and we women need to shop for trifles
our small town doesn’t carry. It might do you good to get away for a spell.”

  Sarah thought the matter over. “I’ll talk with Bill.”

  “Good. Now I best be finishin’ these eggs before I have fifteen hungry boys stampeding me kitchen! Be a love, and set the table, would you?”

  Sarah nodded and set about the task, taking plates from the sideboard into the large dining room and laying them out on the two tables. She wished she could feel comforted, but it was hard for her to reconcile herself to the fact that Aunt Lefu could be mistaken when her aunt was so strong—harsh, many called it. For the past ten years, her aunt had taught her. Sarah wasn’t sure if she could just throw all those teachings away.

  Thirteen

  As he drove toward the pastor’s home, Bill darted a glance to Sarah every now and then. Tendrils of black hair had come loose from her thick braid, stirred by the air from the open window. Her expression was serene; her face glowed as though she were imbued with life. He wondered if his mention of the picnic had brought that flush of color to her cheeks, that luminescence to her face. Earlier, she had caught him putting the hamper in the back of the Tin Lizzie, so he’d admitted his plan. For the first time, her eyes had sparkled with what looked like joy, and that gave Bill hope. Maybe he could win her heart sooner than he’d thought.

  At the pastor’s home a short and plump, gray-haired woman opened the door. She smiled effusively and greeted Sarah with open eagerness. “My husband told me all about meeting the two of you last Sunday. I’m so excited to know you, Sarah, and I look forward to long talks with you about your island.” Her green eyes sparkled. “As I’m sure my husband told you, I thrive on adventure. My great-grandfather was a sea captain. My grandfather was a general in the War Between the States. My father was a hot-air balloon enthusiast. And I married a preacher.” She laughed delightedly. “Believe me when I tell you, that is an adventure of and unto itself.”

  Pastor Wilkins cleared his throat from the opposite side of the room. “I see you’ve all met.” He gave a tolerant but loving look to his wife. “My dear, would you bring us some tea?”

  “Of course, dear.” Her look was just as affectionate as she whisked away.

  Something twisted inside Bill, making him hungry for such camaraderie between himself and Sarah. On the island, they’d come midway to that point. He hoped that today would be the start of reaching it in full.

  Several chairs stood close in the small parlor, where Pastor Wilkins had laid out his notes and a Bible. Once settled, he went over the notes of Sunday’s meeting, also bringing up the first commandment: “Thou shalt have no other gods before me.”

  Bill listened, as interested as Sarah. He noticed that at times her brow clouded, as if she were confused or uncertain. Pastor Wilkins patiently answered her many questions and took her still further through the Bible, showing her in 1 Kings how those kings who did evil in the sight of the Lord and who worshiped idols were punished. But those who did good and worshiped only the Lord God were blessed. His wife brought tea and swept quietly out again. While they drank the hot beverage, Pastor Wilkins clarified and taught and listened. Bill was impressed with the man. He was as new to this as Sarah, but after an hour in the pastor’s company, he didn’t see how she could question any longer.

  “If what you say is truly wrong. . .” Sarah’s eyes clouded. “Why then do my people take part in such things? They are good men and women; they seek only to do what is right.”

  Bill felt a stab of apprehension. This was the first he’d ever heard her refer to them as her people and not as her mother’s people. In an instant, he realized just how strong the connection was to her aunt and why this was so difficult for her.

  “Didn’t you tell me that your father is a missionary?” The pastor looked confused.

  “Yes, but many of the villagers do as he tells them with their lips and actions only; they do not believe in the Christian God with their hearts—though there are some who do.”

  “And what do you believe, Sarah?”

  “I believe in Jesus, the Christ, and in all He did. I believe He is God.”

  “Well, that’s the first step.” The pastor looked relieved. “But anyone can believe. You have to receive Him into your heart and life.”

  “I believe I have done this. I have accepted Jesus as my own. But for years, my aunt has taught me another way, and I have visited her temple.”

  “And your father allowed this?” There was no mistaking the pastor’s shock.

  Sarah briefly looked down at her lap, her brows sadly drawn together. “For a long time, my father turned away from God after my mother died. He allowed me to go where I wished and took little notice of me. His sorrow was very great. After he returned to God, at times he tried to tell me what you speak now. But I didn’t understand and told him so, since in the time of his great sorrow he never denied me attending the ceremonies or learning from my aunt.”

  Sarah remembered the look of agony that had crossed her father’s face at her quiet words of confusion. The tears that had filled his eyes. He had hugged her close, then swiftly turned and left the hut.

  The pastor thought a long moment. “Sarah, do you have access to a Bible?”

  “My father sent his Bible with me, and I read some on the ship. I have not finished it.”

  At this, the pastor’s lips quirked at the corners. “Yes, it does take some time to reach that point. I have written down some scriptures and would like you to study them. I could read them to you, but I’ve found it helps when one looks at the passages for oneself. My methods might seem odd to some of my calling, but this is what I’ve determined works best.”

  Sarah took the paper. “I will do as you ask.”

  The pastor talked with them a while longer; then his wife popped in to bring cookies and more tea. Sarah barely nibbled at her shortbread wafer. Suddenly she looked up, her eyes hopeful.

  “May I have a pickle?”

  All of them stared at her—whether for her lack of social decorum or her odd request Bill didn’t know. He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. For a woman whose daily diet had often included octopus and eel, a sour pickle with tea wasn’t so unusual. Feeling Sarah withdraw just by noting the way her body slightly recoiled and her chin lowered, as if embarrassed, Bill spoke up. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like a pickle, too.”

  ❧

  Once they left the pastor’s home, Sarah let out a relieved sigh. The woman didn’t have any pickles, unlike Darcy, who bought them from the grocer on a regular basis, and Sarah wished now she hadn’t given in to this strange craving of the dills and asked for one. Although the pastor’s wife didn’t say a word and treated her just as kindly as when Sarah had walked through the front door, questioning her about the island, Sarah realized she’d committed a social error.

  Bill was quieter, directing a sort of sad smile her way now and again. She buried a sigh, knowing she must have disappointed him.

  At her first view of the lake, Sarah exhaled softly. It wasn’t home, with its breadfruits and palms, its tropical flowers, and waterfall, but this place contained a beauty and peace all its own that soothed Sarah’s soul. Trees of lush green surrounded a shimmering body of water. Sunlight pushed through leafy boughs and glanced off the water, gilding it in ripples. Quiet birdsong filled the trees.

  Bill led the way to a grassy area and laid a blanket on the ground. Sarah ignored the blanket and moved to the edge of the lake. The call of the water, which she had so missed, enticed her, and she sat down to pull off the uncomfortable narrow pumps that all the women in New York wore.

  “Sarah?”

  Next came off her stockings.

  “What are you doing?” His voice was dazed. “That water must be near freezing. I wouldn’t try it if I were you. The lake could be deep.”

  She hesitated, torn between his words and the desire to feel moving water around her again. She gave him a hopeful smile. “Surely it is not as deep as an ocean?”

>   He stared at her several more seconds, then gave a slight permissive nod.

  Sarah tested the waters. Bill was right; it chilled her senses but at the same time revived them. To feel the water lap over her bare foot freed something inside her. Seeing that the edge was shallow and allowed for her to wade in, she bunched up her dress around her hips and did so.

  “Sarah. . .” His voice held a note of caution. “Be careful.”

  The clear water rushed gently past her legs as if welcoming her, and she almost wept with how good it felt. She waded out farther until the hem of her dress absorbed the water. What she would give to swim again, though in this long dress such a feat was unlikely.

  She stood awhile longer, then, with a sigh, retraced her steps to Bill, who’d not altered from his position or from staring at her. She sensed pain in his eyes before he turned his attention to the picnic hamper.

  “Let’s see what Darcy packed for us, shall we?” His tone came light, though his shoulders looked heavy.

  Sarah collected her stockings and shoes and joined him on the blanket, hoping she had not upset him. His stance seemed distant, though his words welcomed her.

  “Sandwiches—ham, by the looks of it. Fruit—knowing Darcy, that’s no surprise.” He pulled out a container. “And here are your pickles!”

  “Thank you.” Sarah smiled as she took the container and the sandwich he offered.

  Bill opened the wrapper and picked up his own sandwich, opening his mouth in readiness for a bite, then glanced at Sarah, who sat still, calmly waiting.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Should we not offer thanks?”

  “Zowie! You’re right. I’m still new at this.” He set down his sandwich and bowed his head as Sarah did, offering a short prayer.

  “Tell me,” she asked as she ate her sandwich, glad her stomach didn’t rebel and she could eat again. “Is zowie slang?”

  “Sure is. Means full of zip.” At her blank look, he added, “Energy.”

  “Will you teach me more of this slang, Bill? I should like to know it.”