A Gentle Fragrance

by Pamela Griffin

  “Well, I’m off. Toodle-oo!” Bill lifted a hand in a wave as he stepped off the stairs.

  “Cheerio!” came the good-natured reply.

  Bill shook his head in amusement without looking back. That one had to be Darcy’s doing. Once again, he mentally tipped his hat toward her for teaching his brother to relax and enjoy life.

  The drive into town went well—no rain. He headed to the barber shop, glad to see only one other customer there. A towel lay over his face, and his head rested back against the chair he sat in.

  The barber, a plump man in his fifties, looked Bill’s way. “I know you. You’re Brent’s brother—Bill Thomas. Right?”

  “Yeah?” Bill waited.

  “A man was in here an hour or so ago, looking for you.”

  “A man?” Bill thought a moment. Maybe the train was early, though that would be odd. Train schedules were very strict. “Did he give his name? Was it Stewart Lyons? Or Michael Larkin?”

  “No, no. I know both of those gentlemen.” As he spoke, he moved a straight razor up and down a strop. “This was a stranger.”

  A stranger. Fear locked down hard on Bill. “What did he look like?”

  “Blond gent. Medium height—about as tall as you. Blue eyes.” His own eyes brightened. “He talked with a funny accent.”

  “It was French,” came from behind the cloth of the man waiting for his shave.

  “Yeah. That was it—French. Had that smooth ooh-la-la sound to it.”

  Bill stared. The man he described sounded just like Philip Rawlins, only he knew his old associate didn’t work for Vittorio any longer. “Did he leave any kind of message?”

  “No. Said he was just passing through town and heard you were here.”

  “Thanks.” Forgetting all about his shave and haircut, Bill left the shop in a daze.

  Why would Phil Rawlins search him out? Unless it wasn’t Phil Rawlins at all, but one of Vittorio’s hatchet men. . .no, that made no sense. The killers Vittorio had working for him in the family were mostly Italian; not blond with French accents.

  Bill walked down the street, the minutes rambling by without order, while he tried to unscramble the situation in his mind. As he walked past the postal office, he noticed a dark-haired middle-aged woman who sat on a bench outside and fanned herself with a newspaper. She looked up at him as if she knew him.

  “You’re Bill Thomas? From Lyons’ Refuge?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. I’ve seen you in church. I have something for you. A man came by and dropped it off. I’d put it with the other mail for the refuge, but as long as you’re here, I’ll go and get it. And you can have the rest of the mail, too.”

  This day was taking on a surreal aspect. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  Soon she waddled back out to the porch, a sheaf of envelopes and magazines in her hands. Bill took the bundle with another word of thanks and began walking away as he shuffled through the correspondence, a Saturday Evening Post, another few envelopes, a circular—until he found what he was looking for.

  He stared hard at the plain envelope that bore his name and the name of the refuge underneath. Knowing he couldn’t read it and juggle the rest of the items, he returned to the wagon, set the rest of the mail on the bench, and tore into the letter:

  Bill,

  Don’t ask why I’m doing this or even how I know. Call it payback for saving my life like you did that time I put the bite on V and he planned to bump me off. For reasons I don’t want to touch on here, I can’t visit you at Lyons’ Refuge, so I wrote this note instead. V knows you didn’t die. A life for a life—that’s always been his motto, and he won’t stop until he finds you and makes that happen. You’re no chump; take this as a warning. Keep your back covered. If I were you, I’d pack a rod at all times.

  P. R.

  So, it was Phil. The warning from his old associate wove deep down into Bill’s mind, making him both angry and tense. He had gotten his life in order, was finally trying to stay on the up and up and do what was right. He’d brought God into his life—so why was this happening to him? Why now, when his relationship with Sarah was working out so well and they’d discovered mutual love? Sarah. . .

  Horror swept through him.

  A life for a life.

  Closing his eyes, Bill felt the warning scream down into his very soul.

  ❧

  Confused, Sarah studied her husband all through dinner. Since he had collected them at the station, she had sensed his unease. When he’d embraced her at the depot, he’d held her tightly for several seconds, almost as if he were afraid to let her go, then gave a faint, flippant smile when he pulled away. Even Stewart asked if anything was the matter, a question which Bill carelessly shrugged off with the comment that he’d missed his wife.

  Sarah had missed him, too, but that didn’t account for Bill’s strange behavior. The troubled look she’d seen in his eyes all night. The heavy set to his shoulders as if they carried an unseen weight.

  “Bill?” She came up to him where he sat on the porch, staring blankly at the stars. No one was with them, and he pulled her onto his lap. “What’s biting you? You seem so worried.” She pushed at a lock of his hair.

  Despite his tense expression, he quietly chuckled. “If you’re going to speak slang, pretty Sarah, you need to get it right. It’s ‘what’s eating you?’” His words were gentle, teasing, but she didn’t want to be put off.

  “Please tell me,” she quietly insisted.

  He looked at her a long time, his eyes roving to each part of her face as though memorizing it.

  “Bill?”

  “Let’s go away, Sarah. Just the two of us. We can find somewhere nice, somewhere quiet, safe. Build a life there.”

  “Go away?” Her brows pulled together in confusion. “Don’t you like it here at the refuge? Now that you and your brother are getting along so well, I should think you would want to stay.”

  “It’s all right here, I guess.” He grew somber and looked into the distance. “There sure are a lot of kids around, though. And that new one has a mouth on her that won’t quit. She’d shame a sailor.”

  Something twisted inside her heart. “You don’t like kids, Bill?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He seemed frustrated as he shook his head. “They’re all right, I guess. But I think maybe we should head off somewhere else for a while. I hear Connecticut is nice. That’s where your father is from if I remember right.”

  “Yes, he told me this. But why Connecticut? I have no relatives there any longer.”

  He blew out a heavy breath. “I don’t know, Sarah. If you don’t want to go there, that’s fine. We can go somewhere else. I just want to get out of New York for a while.”

  She remained quiet as she observed him. She loved the refuge and all the people in it, who’d become her family. But she loved Bill more. “If you want to go to Connecticut, then we shall go. I only want for us to be together.”

  “Doll, you can’t get rid of me.”

  The hoarseness in his voice confused her. He swallowed hard, and Sarah wondered in shock at the tears she saw glazing his eyes. But she had no time to think of his unpredictable behavior as his hand went to the back of her head and he swiftly pulled her toward him.

  His mouth on hers both thrilled her and frightened her. He kissed her urgently, passionately, as if it were the last time he might ever do so. A maelstrom of emotion swept through Sarah at his kiss, and she kept her arms around his neck as if to hold on. With her answering kiss, she tried to show him her reassurance and her devotion, tried to comfort him and not be frightened.

  But later that night, as Bill lay trembling in her arms, again holding her so very tightly, Sarah knew something was definitely wrong.

  Twenty

  “I shall miss you.” Charleigh helped Darcy with the dishes and looked toward Sarah. “At least you’ll be coming with us on the picnic this weekend.”

  “Yes. Bill wanted to attend the church meet
ing once more and spend one last day with everyone here in a leisurely atmosphere.” Sarah laid the plate she’d just dried onto a shelf. Feeling a fluttering inside similar to one she’d first felt on the night she lay in her hotel room in Manhattan, she put a hand to her stomach.

  Darcy took her hands out of the dishwater and glanced Sarah’s way, her expression concerned. “How are you feelin’, luv? Is the sickness any better?”

  “I’m doing much better. Only. . .” She hesitated, wondering if she should speak. Seeing only kindness in the women’s eyes, feeling a closeness to them she’d never had with any other woman, including her aunt, she decided to share. “I have not yet told Bill about the baby. I fear he doesn’t like children and I may lose him if he knows.” Without warning, the tears came, and she buried her face in the dishtowel. She had been so emotional lately and couldn’t seem to quench this latest outburst. Her shoulders shook as she tried.

  She felt Darcy’s arm slip around her waist as she drew her close. “There, there. Don’t cry so.” She smoothed her hair. “Bill loves you—even a blind man could see that. And I don’t think he dislikes children neither. Brent told me he took quite a shine to Robert Brent. Held both babies in his arms and helped Brent take care of ’em while we was away. Poor dears. That’s sayin’ a lot for two teethin’ babies!”

  Sarah hiccupped softly and looked up. “Really?”

  “Most certainly.” Darcy nodded emphatically as if to prove her point.

  Charleigh dried her hands. “Sarah, I understand your fears, but like Darcy, I agree that they aren’t warranted. Any day you’ll be showing, and I really think you need to tell Bill soon. I know Darcy told you of my experience in keeping news of Clementine from Stewart when I carried her, and let me assure you, if I could go back and redo the past, I would have told him the moment I knew. It could have saved us so much heartache and pain.”

  “If only we could go back and redo the past.” Sarah sighed as another thought took hold. “I’ve made a great many mistakes; the greatest I believe was to cleave to the pagan teachings of my aunt. Something deep inside me felt uneasy even as I listened and attended the ceremonies, but when my father distanced himself from me after my mother died, I was lonely. I relied on my aunt to show me love and attention. I believed what she said, and even later, after my father told me differently, I would not listen.”

  “You were a small child when that happened.” Shaking her head, Charleigh laid a comforting hand against Sarah’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Now that you’ve matured into an adult and have learned and know the truth, you’re making a wise decision to abstain from island beliefs.”

  Sarah nodded, deciding she must also make another decision. “You are right in what you advise concerning Bill. Already I have felt life within my belly, and I know I cannot hide it from him any longer. I will tell him about the babe at the picnic.” In a relaxed setting—surely this would be the best place to reveal such news.

  “I’m tickled pink to hear it,” Darcy said with a grin. “And I’m sure your pot and pan will be just as pleased.” At Sarah’s blank stare, Darcy added, “your husband, luv. That’s me cockney slipping in, as you no doubt have heard many times before.” She let out a delighted laugh.

  Sarah grinned. Between Bill’s American slang and Darcy’s British cockney, her vocabulary had increased immensely over the past weeks.

  A baby started crying, and another one soon joined in.

  “Poor lambs. I best go see what’s troublin’ ’em now.” Darcy left the kitchen. Charleigh and Sarah resumed their task of washing the dishes.

  “In a pig’s eye! And I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”

  Both women jumped upon hearing Miranda’s shout from outside. They hurried to the door.

  Miranda stood, fists on her hips, leaning toward two boys Sarah recognized as Petey and Clint. Her braids were askew as always; her reddened face smudged with dirt.

  “You’re just a dumb girl,” Petey shot back. “You don’t know nothin’ nohow.”

  “Says you! I’m smarter than all of you put together.”

  “If you’re such a smarty-pants, whatcha doin’ here?” Clint taunted. “You musta got caught to end up in this place. Watcha do—snitch a lollipop off a baby?”

  The boys snickered.

  “None of your beeswax!” Miranda said hotly. “You’re both just a bunch of bozos!”

  “Oh, yeah—well, so’s your old man,” Clint shot back.

  Miranda flew at him, knocking him to the ground. She straddled him, her fist flying, but Charleigh flew off the porch and caught her arm before the girl could punch him in the nose. Sarah followed but stayed a distance behind.

  “Stop it!” Charleigh commanded. “All of you. Clint and Petey, march right to Mr. Lyons’s office—now! Miranda, you come with me.”

  “Whatcha gonna do? Beat me to a pulp?” The girl glared at both women. “I ain’t afraid of any of you.”

  Charleigh maintained calm. “Miranda, we would never strike a child in anger; that’s simply not right, nor is it how we do things here at the refuge. But you will be disciplined. I cannot allow fighting to go unpunished. For now, I want you to sit on the porch. Do not move from that spot. I need to talk this over with Mr. Lyons.”

  Miranda wrenched her arm away from Charleigh and marched to the porch. With a huff, she flopped onto it, her skirts ruffling with the action. Sarah was surprised the girl had given in so quickly. Over the past several days at the refuge, she had rejected authority, though the second time she’d been sent to her room without supper. Perhaps that had helped to curb her rebellion.

  Charleigh shook her head, the look she gave Sarah filled with concerned exasperation. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her while I talk with Stewart? She appears to have settled down some, but I’d prefer it if she wasn’t alone.”

  “Of course.”

  Charleigh left for the house. Sasi, who’d awoken from his nap, came to sniff Miranda. The girl put out her hand and tentatively petted the pup. Seeing Sarah approach, she quickly withdrew her hand.

  “You may pet Sasi if you like.” Sarah smiled, but the girl looked away. She hesitated, then sat on the porch, keeping Sasi between them. Sasi moved to lick Sarah’s hand, and she absently petted the puppy. He playfully nipped at her, and Sarah chuckled.

  “Is he yours?” Miranda asked, still staring straight ahead.

  Sarah sensed a strange longing in the child’s voice. “Yes. My husband gave him to me. I’ve always had a great fondness for animals. On the island where I was born, I had a pet monkey and a dolphin.”

  Miranda turned wide eyes to Sarah. “No foolin’? I seed pictures of ’em in books before, but never seen one in real life. My pa wouldn’t let me have a dog. Wouldn’t let me have nothin’. Exceptin’ the back of his belt.” The girl turned sullen again.

  Wanting to bring back the shine she’d seen in Miranda’s eyes, Sarah spoke. “I suppose I truly did not own either of them. They were wild and only came to visit me when they were ready. I miss them, but now I have Sasi.” She reached down to rub his belly, and Sasi’s tail thumped the porch. “The monkey was actually a gift to my father, but he did not like Mutu. He would often steal his bananas or other fruit from him when my father was not looking. He never did so to me, though. We had an understanding. I carried him through the forest, and he did not steal from my plate.” Sarah grinned and was pleased when Miranda smiled. But again it faded.

  “Sometimes if you wanna eat ya gotta steal,” the girl countered in sad resignation. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do about that.”

  Sarah thought a moment. “You should talk to Darcy. When she was a girl, she lived in the streets of London and stole food to eat. She was also a pickpocket. She stole money from gentlemen’s pockets.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “Really? I figured she was just a goody-goody like the rest of ’em.”

  “Goody-goody? I have not heard this term.”

  Miranda gave a scornful half laug
h. “Lady, you are way behind the times. A goody-goody is someone who’s too good to be true. Like this place.” She shook her head. “Ain’t no way these people here are real. One day I’m gonna wake up and they’ll be just as mean as my pa was.”

  Sarah felt saddened by the girl’s pain. “And your mother?”

  “She ran off long ago. Who needs her anyway?” Scowling, Miranda picked up a pebble lying nearby and threw it far across the lawn.

  “I also had no mother. I lost her when I was seven.”

  Miranda looked at Sarah. “That’s when my old lady ran out on me. Two years ago. Pa’s been meaner than a hornet ever since, though he took off, too. Took his money and gambled it all away.”

  Sarah stared out over the lawn as silence settled between them. Something inside urged her to speak. “This term, goody-goody. It makes me think of God, and how He is all that is good. My father taught me that no one is truly good, and that is so. Everyone at one time or another does what is wrong when they wish to do what is right. The people here at the refuge have God living inside their hearts; that is the goodness you see. They want to reach out and share this goodness with others. Everyone here has been through many difficulties, as you have. Charleigh served a term in a British prison for her crimes, as did Darcy. That is where they met.”

  Shock covered Miranda’s face. “No foolin’?”

  Sarah nodded. “They would not mind me speaking of this, since everyone here knows of their story. Do not be afraid of this goodness you see, Miranda. It is real and will not be taken from you.”