A Gentle Fragrance

by Pamela Griffin

  Miranda looked away and didn’t answer. Seconds elapsed before she turned to Sarah again. Her eyes seemed hopeful, though hesitant. “Will you tell me more about your dolphin and your monkey?”

  Sarah laughed, grateful that Miranda had finally reached out. “I would be most honored to.”

  ❧

  Stewart’s eyes were grave as he set the letter on the desk. He looked up at Bill. “Why should Eric do this, is what I want to know? What kind of hidden motive does he have?”

  A tap sounded on the door, and Charleigh walked inside. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”

  “No, wait.” Stewart looked at Bill then back to his wife. “You need to hear this, too.”

  Curiosity lifting her brows, Charleigh approached the desk. Stewart handed her the letter. She read over it, then looked up, her eyes even more confused.

  “P. R. is Philip Rawlins. . .Eric.”

  Her face blanched. Stewart rose from his chair to put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let him near you again.”

  She nodded faintly, then looked at Bill. “Is this why you feel you must leave the refuge?”

  The refuge. An odd choice of words. Was anywhere really safe?

  “It would be best for everyone here if we did leave. And please, I don’t want Sarah to know about that letter.”

  “You don’t want your wife to know a killer might be after you?” Stewart shook his head. “Is that fair to her? Don’t you think she should be told?”

  Bill wondered about that. If he thought that it was only about him, he might be able to handle the prospect of Vittorio’s henchmen lurking somewhere close by far better. But the fear that Sarah was the target had him literally trembling. Ever since he’d received the missive, Bill was frantic, his emotions so near the surface he’d been unable to control them or hide them from his wife. That had been the motivation for him bringing the letter to Stewart. He hoped somehow Stewart could help him.

  “You can’t run all your life, Bill.” Stewart’s words were calm. “After Connecticut, then where? There will always be some place else you’ll feel the need to run. The offer to stay here with Sarah still stands.”

  Frustrated, Bill shook his head, rubbed a hand along his nape. “You don’t know these people like I do. What Phil wrote—a life for a life—is exactly how Vittorio thinks. He won’t stop until he achieves his purpose. Phil knows that, too.”

  He noticed the look they shared.

  “Look, I know you don’t think much of Phil—or Eric, as you knew him,” Bill corrected. “But he was my friend; I saved his life once, and that means something in the underworld where I come from. I don’t think he’s playing me for a sap. This is on the level. And I also think if he meant you guys harm, he wouldn’t have written that letter. He would have come here. He didn’t try to disguise the fact that it was from him.”

  “You could be right about that.” Stewart’s answer was grim. “Still, I’d find it hard to believe that there was any morsel of good in the man.”

  Charleigh put a gentling hand to Stewart’s tense arm, and he relaxed, again glancing at her. His gaze softened.

  Bill could understand their dilemma. He’d heard everything his former associate had done to this poor woman. Deceiving her into believing they were married, using her as his fellow con-artist, and then, after the Titanic sank, searching her out and threatening her again. His own brother had saved everyone at the refuge on the night Phil had arrived to wreak his revenge. But Bill would be a sorry soul if he were to judge Phil for his past sins when his own were just as bad.

  “If I were packing heat, I’d feel safer, but I no longer have a gun.”

  “I’m sorry. I have no gun to give you. Here at the refuge, especially considering some of the situations these children come from, we find it safer not to have firearms on the premises. But I do understand your dilemma, and I’m not suggesting that it isn’t real. I believe it’s very real.”

  “The only protection I can offer you is my prayers,” Charleigh said earnestly. “You and Sarah will always have those.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Bill tightened inside. If God really cared about his life, would He have allowed this to happen? He’d asked God to take over, but Bill figured somewhere along the line, God must have gotten lost, too. He didn’t understand this alarming course on which he was being taken.

  As if he’d read his mind, Stewart eyed him somberly. “Sometimes, even after we become Christians, we end up having to suffer the consequences for past mistakes. Maybe it doesn’t seem fair, and maybe it doesn’t seem like God really cares. But He does. And we just have to keep trusting Him to work out our lives, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

  Bill nodded, knowing Stewart was just trying to help, though he wasn’t sure he bought all of what the man said. He’d be happy when he and Sarah were out of New York.

  Twenty-one

  “We’ll be leaving for the picnic as soon as the twins are up from their nap.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarah nodded and continued staring at the object in her hand. As she studied the last few engraved symbols, Bill came to sit beside her.

  “Your father’s cross?” he asked, and again she nodded. “Do you understand what all those symbols mean?”

  “Most of them.” She explained to him that the wavy lines meant the prayers of her father, and then enlightened him to the other symbols she’d figured out. Afterward she motioned to the top of the last two. “This, I think, means you.” She pointed to a symbol next to the crown. “When Maliu brought you to the island and I found you.”

  Bill leaned forward to see, then snorted. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  Sarah’s smile grew wide. “Yes, it is an angel. My father was very fond of the meanings of symbols and names and studied them. The night before we married, he told me that your true name—William—means determined guardian. Like an angel, perhaps?” Her heart fairly danced as he shook his head in embarrassed agitation.

  “Why is it carrying that crown?”

  “The crown is me. The name Sarah means princess. You, my guardian, carried the princess away from the island.”

  His eyes clouded over. “Do you regret that, Sarah? I’ve sometimes wondered if you held it against me.”

  “No, Bill. I have found much happiness with you here in New York. More than I ever dreamed possible. I wouldn’t have left the island with you had I not wanted to.”

  They shared a tender look, and he pointed to the bottom symbol. “What’s that last one mean?”

  Sarah again studied the symbol that had given her so much confusion. The crown was closed off inside a thick circle and separate from the symbols on the outside, which were at opposite angles. A snake. A cross. “This one I do not know. I have studied it and studied it. The snake, I think, means evil, and the cross is good. Perhaps showing that Aunt Lefu’s way was evil and Father’s way was good?” She shook her head. “But why it shows at the bottom is what I don’t understand.”

  Bill intently looked at the carving a long moment. “Sarah, what if this was your father’s way of showing you that you had closed yourself within two worlds and must make a choice? That you can’t serve more than one God?”

  At his quiet words, a flash of blinding clarity streamed through her mind. Her father had tried to talk to her several times after his great sorrow when he had returned to God to point out that Sarah shouldn’t attend the pagan ceremonies or cleave to the words of her aunt. But she hadn’t understood since he’d never stopped her before. And so he had discontinued his counsel. Was this his last way of reaching out to her, to try and get her to realize the truth?

  Tears swam to her eyes as she looked at Bill. “I think you may be right. I think that must have been the message that Father was trying to tell me. If only he could know that I’ve learned the truth and now in my heart serve only one God. The true God.”

  With his index finger,
Bill traced one of the wavy lines. “I think he probably does know, Sarah.”

  ❧

  A balmy breeze heightened the summer day, making it comfortable. Bill joined Sarah on the blanket for their picnic. With them, Darcy and Brent, Charleigh and Stewart, all enjoyed sandwiches while the children played, having already engulfed their food. Their excitement over running through the grass or wading in the lake nearby made everyone smile. Even Miranda seemed to be enjoying herself and didn’t pick fights with the boys as she often did.

  Robert Brent crawled over to Bill, grabbed his index finger, and put it in his mouth, gumming down on it.

  Darcy tugged on his diaper, pulling the boy back. “Now then, you’ll not be usin’ people for teethers, young man.”

  “That’s all right.” Bill gave a smile of consent, then looked down at the kid. “Me and Robert have an understanding, don’t we, little fella?”

  Robert made gurgling noises as he continued to gum Bill’s finger. Bill looked up at Sarah and was stunned by the glow of happiness in her eyes. “Sarah?” he breathed in confusion.

  She looked down at her lap, but he couldn’t miss the shyness that swept over her face. Darcy and Charleigh exchanged a grin.

  “Well now, as much as we’d love to keep your company, bein’ as how ye will soon be leavin’ the refuge, I think it’s a splendid day for young lovers to take a walk.” When neither Bill nor Sarah made a move, Darcy shooed them. “Do I need to set a fire underneath you? Well then, off with ye both.”

  Brent chuckled. “Trust me, Bill. You’d be wise to just do as she suggests.”

  “I like the idea.” Stewart rose and held his hand out to Charleigh. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, her eyes bright as she stood to take his arm, and the two began to walk. Bill and Sarah did the same, taking the opposite direction.

  They hadn’t gone far, when they heard the unmistakable sound of Sasi’s yipping. Bill turned to look, and noticed Miranda following them and carrying the pup.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?” Bill pointedly asked. “I hear the children are going to have a potato-sack race soon.”

  “Don’t like races.”

  “Well, then go take a swim.”

  “Can’t. Don’t know how.”

  Bill let out a frustrated breath. “Well, I’m sure you can find something to do rather than spy on your elders. In other words—scram!”

  “Aw, no need to get in a lather, mister.” Miranda scowled. “I know when I ain’t wanted.” She turned on her heel in a huff.

  “Bill.” Sarah put a hand to his sleeve.

  “Can’t a man spend time alone with his wife?” he implored, half amused, half frustrated.

  “Yes, of course. But I think you were too hard on her. She has been through so much, and we have talked. I think she is starting to open up with me.”

  Bill looked into Sarah’s gentle eyes, which always seemed to have the power to transform him from a growling bear to a bear cub within seconds. He blew out a resigned breath. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I was too hard on the kid. I’m just not used to them is all. Never been around any before I came to the refuge.”

  They continued walking and entered a shady area where the trees blocked them from view of the rest of the picnickers. Holding her hand, Bill led Sarah farther into the woods, then turned with a smile and pulled her into his arms for a long, tender kiss.

  Caught up in the delight of Sarah, he heard the rustle of the grass only when it was too late.

  “Well, now. Looks to me like Lucky Bill ain’t so lucky after all.”

  An ominous click sounded.

  Bill tensed and hurriedly pulled away from Sarah, setting her behind him so that he mostly stood in front of her.

  In pinstriped suits and wearing fedoras, two men Bill recognized as Alfonzo and Lucio both pointed guns at Bill’s heart.

  ❧

  Fear tore into Sarah’s mind. Dread ripped away her composure.

  “Good thing Vonnie was at the boutique the day your little wife was,” the darker of the two said.

  Sarah recognized him as the stranger from the restaurant, and she clutched the sleeve of Bill’s suit coat, her eyes wide. She realized these must be the mobsters Bill had been running from.

  “You got what you want.” Bill’s voice was tight but calm. “Let her go.”

  His words of defeat terrified Sarah. She shot a glance to her husband, her grip on his arm tightening as if by force of will she could protect him from these men’s evil intentions with her touch alone.

  “Well now,” the first man responded, “we can’t do that, Bill. We don’t need her running off to squeal. Besides, two for the price of one—Vittorio might like that.” He raised his brows to his partner, who gave an unpleasant grin.

  Bill tensed. “That’s not Vittorio’s way and you know it. She has nothing to do with any of this.”

  “What makes you think I care? She’s just a dame. They’re a dime a dozen as far as I’m concerned.” The first man’s dark eyes were cold. “Now. . .” He motioned with his gun for them to walk ahead of him. “It’s time for you to take a little ride that’s been long in coming. You, too, sister.”

  “You wanna find the real killer?” Bill stood his ground. “Tell Vittorio to take a good look at the Ferrelli family. I didn’t kill Marco. I saved the man’s life once; why would I kill him? I had no motive.”

  “Aw, go tell it to Sweeny.”

  “I’m not asking you to believe it, Alfonzo. I’m asking you to take me to Vittorio.”

  Sarah’s heart froze. What was Bill doing? Vittorio would kill him before Bill ever opened his mouth; he’d told her so.

  “He sent us to do the job.” Alfonzo slightly waved his gun in a brisk movement. “You’re trying my patience. Whether we do it here or somewhere outta the ways makes no difference to me. By the time those other picnickers get here, we’ll be long gone.”

  Sasi’s sudden barking startled them. Distracted, Alfonzo swung his head in that direction as the pup raced for him and grabbed a bite of his trousers hem. Sarah watched the other man aim at Bill and his finger move slowly on the trigger. She didn’t stop to think, didn’t stop to question. With all her strength, she pushed Bill out of the way.

  In the next split second, the other man fired. Blinding pain tore through Sarah’s side. A haze covered her eyes. The last thing she heard before sliding to the ground was Bill’s panicked cry of her name.

  Twenty-two

  Before Vittorio’s men could fire again, Bill rushed to his wife’s side, grabbing her upper body close to him. Red soaked her yellow dress and spread onto his shirt.

  “No, Sarah! No! Dear God, why?” His cries were tortured. “Why?”

  A loud rustling stirred the bushes. Men’s voices could be heard. “Bill?” Stewart called.

  “Someone’s coming,” Lucio said. “More than one. Sounds like an army.”

  “Let’s scram!”

  The two mobsters ran off before a large group of men hurried into sight.

  Bill heard exclamations of horror and surprise. Someone called out to go and get the doctor. Bill felt someone else take hold of his arm.

  “Bill,” Brent said urgently but quietly, “we need to get her back to the refuge.”

  He looked up, dazed.

  “No, that’s too far away,” a woman said. “Bring her to my house. It’s closer.”

  The need for immediate action pushed shock into a temporary corner of Bill’s mind. One of the men moved forward to help pick Sarah up, but Bill shook his head to stop him. He scooped Sarah up into his arms and held her close. Her head lolled to the side like a broken doll’s.

  Throughout the next hour, Bill learned what unending torment felt like. While the doctor remained with Sarah beyond a closed door, Bill was made to wait in the parlor of the woman who’d offered her home. He dully noticed she was one of those who’d always snubbed Sarah. Bill didn’t even know her name, didn’t want to know. All the faces and voices
formed a blur in this nightmare world into which he’d been thrust. All he wanted was Sarah, alive, well. . . .

  He numbly heard Stewart’s explanation of how Miranda had followed the two, seen the mobsters, and run to get help. If it hadn’t been for her, they’d both be dead. At this point, Bill didn’t want to live if it meant Sarah must die. That bullet should have been his.

  What seemed like eternities passed as Bill waited. Darcy and Brent tried to encourage him, offering comfort. Charleigh and Stewart did the same, as did Pastor Wilkins. But Bill knew no comfort, didn’t deserve it. His former criminal actions had done this. He alone was responsible.

  Why did she push him out of the way? Why did she do that?

  The question tormented his mind.

  When the doctor finally entered the parlor, his face was grave. Bill’s heart fell into a deep hole as he stood up to hear the words that he didn’t want to hear but must.

  “I successfully removed the bullet, but she shouldn’t be moved.” The elderly doctor patted his brow and beard with a handkerchief. “If she pulls through the night, there’s a good chance she’ll make it. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you.”

  Bill curtly nodded, his throat so tight he couldn’t speak.

  “I wasn’t able to save the baby. I’m very sorry.”

  Baby?

  Bill stared, shock rooting him in place and fogging his mind. “Sarah was pregnant?” His words were hoarse.

  “You didn’t know?” The doctor seemed surprised, then averted his gaze as if uneasy.

  Bill drew on every remnant of control he possessed. “May I see my wife?”

  “Of course.”

  Bill entered the darkened room, closing the door behind him. Sarah lay upon the white sheets, her skin pale, her eyes closed as if she merely slept. A sheet covered her slight form to her bare shoulders. She looked like an angel. The thought terrified him.

  He dropped down on one knee beside the bed. Gently, he laid his hand over her small one. “Oh, Sarah, forgive me. . . . Please forgive me.” Hot tears clouded his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He lowered his head to her arm, hoarsely repeating the words of contrition in a mindless chant. Minutes passed.