“It’s a beautiful day,” she said. “Cold, of course, but the sun is shining.”
Alex’s face was blank, dark and remote. She might have been talking to an empty chair. It would have been so easy to turn away, to leave him with his misery and wish in her heart for the best. Medora didn’t have any faith in even the most heartfelt wishes.
“Would you care to walk with me?” she offered hesitantly. “Just to the beach and back, for a glimpse of the ocean.”
“No, thank you. I wouldn’t care for a glimpse of the ocean this morning.”
She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand her ground instead of running away. “Bad choice of words,” she admitted.
He was resolute. His pride was going to keep him in that chair. Medora bit her bottom lip. Maybe pride was the only thing that would get him out of it.
“Of course, if you can’t manage...” She allowed the sentence to trail off, allowed him to imagine that she thought him incapable of even the smallest tasks.
Alex was hesitant, his silence more than long enough for her to turn away and disappear from the room. But something in his expression changed. She’d challenged him, and it appeared that he’d taken the bait.
“All right,” he finally conceded, standing slowly. Medora’s heart skipped a beat and she suffered a moment of horrific uncertainty. What if she couldn’t help him at all? What if her interference only made matters worse?
She dismissed the uncertainty and helped Alex into his coat, then slipped hers on before she opened the door and allowed a blast of cold air into the room.
“I don’t recall taking many seaside walks in December even when I could see where I was going,” Alex said darkly as Medora took his arm and led him into the sunshine.
She decided to ignore his cheerless remark. “I don’t mind the cold, unless it’s wet.” It was a short walk to the flat rock that looked out over the Atlantic, and Medora held onto Alex’s arm as they made the hike. He was a bit unsteady, but not as much as he might’ve been. His steps were careful, a little uncertain on the uneven path. When they were several feet from the edge she stopped and he stopped with her.
Alex turned his face toward the ocean he couldn’t see and took a deep breath. No, he could not see, but he could smell the scent of the sea and feel the cold wind on his face and in his lungs.
“Shall we sit here?” she suggested, still holding his arm.
“I thought you wanted to walk.”
“I’d rather sit and listen to the waves and smell the sea air until I just can’t stand the cold any longer. If you don’t mind, of course.”
Alex lowered himself to the flat rock, and Medora sat beside him. As close as she dared.
The waves crashed, savage, as angry as Alex, and the wind that came off the water was like ice. It made sense to settle herself near to her reluctant companion.
“It’s all right, you know,” he said, his voice not as austere as it had been before.
“What?”
“You can have your glimpse of the ocean, watch the waves even if I cannot.”
A cold breeze lifted strands of black hair and blew them across his face. After a long moment, Medora reached up and brushed them away with gentle fingers. He turned toward her, turned into the uninvited touch.
“I’m told I owe you an apology, for my rude behavior on the evening of my homecoming.”
“Who told you to apologize?” She could guess...
“My mother. I should not have taken my anger out on you.”
She wanted to touch his face again, to trace his jaw and touch his lips with the tips of her fingers. But she didn’t. He was talking to her, and that was the first step. “Don’t apologize because your mother asks it of you. You’re entitled to your anger, for now.”
“For now?”
Medora leaned closer to Alex so that her face was protected from the wind. “You can’t live with that kind of anger. Not for long. It will eat away at you, from the inside out. So save your apology until you mean it.”
His jaw was tight, his mood as dark and angry as ever. There was a bite in his voice when he asked, “What are you doing here?”
There were many possible meanings to that simple question. Here in the family inn or here, at this moment, with him? Medora chose to answer safely. “After the first of the year I’ll be sailing out of Port Wentworth. I needed a place to stay until then, and your mother offered me a very reasonable rate.”
His response was a cynical growl, but he didn’t ask her what she was doing sitting so close to him, seeking him out, dragging him from his comfortable chair near the fire.
“What will you do now?” she asked, and he turned away from her so that the cold wind caught him full in the face. She thought for a moment that he wouldn’t answer, that he had withdrawn from her completely.
But after a short pause, he did answer. “Josh and I had planned to build a sawmill on the west edge of the property. There will be a real need for lumber in the years to come.”
“I’m sure the venture will be successful,” Medora said softly.
Alex turned back to her, and she could see a brief expression of pain on his face, an expression that quickly faded and turned into his usual hard resolve. That harshness was his way of protecting himself, she supposed.
“Josh will have to go it alone.”
“Why?” she whispered.
This time there was no yielding of his grave expression. “Are you cruel or just stupid?”
“I’m neither,” she answered without hesitation or heat. “I’m an optimist.”
“I’m a realist,” Alex said harshly. “Josh is my brother and a good man. He would, without a word of complaint, allow me to spend the rest of my life getting in his way, making his own life difficult. I refuse to do that to him. He’s done enough. He deserves better.”
“You deserve better,” Medora said quickly. “I swear, you talk as though your life is over.”
“It is.”
“No.” Medora placed a hand over his forearm, rested it there as if it belonged. “Your life isn’t over. It’s just changed.”
Alex didn’t readily accept what she said, nor did he reject it. There was a long span of silence, a passing of minutes when all she could hear was the pounding of the ocean.
When Alex did speak, he managed to surprise her. “What do you look like?”
“Just... like any ordinary woman.”
“You don’t sound ordinary.”
Medora smiled softly at the resignation in Alex’s voice. He was intrigued by her. He wanted to know more.
“What color is your hair?” he asked.
Medora took a deep breath. “Brown.”
He waited for more and when she didn’t elaborate he asked insistently, “Light? Dark? Curly? Straight?” She could hear his frustration.
“Dark,” she said. “Not dark like your black hair, but more of a reddish brown. It’s not really curly or straight. When it’s down it waves a little, around my face, and tries to turn up at the ends.”
He hesitated a moment before continuing, as if he were taking his time forming a picture in his mind. “Your eyes.”
“Green,” Medora answered simply.
Her face was almost frozen with the cold wind that buffeted it, but she didn’t mind. Alex’s features had softened slightly as they’d talked, and he appeared years younger than he had just that morning. His lips relaxed, and the frown lines she’d seen etched on his forehead seemed less severe. Was the smile she craved far behind?
“Dammit, Medora,” he swore softly. “Light? Dark? Blue-green? Brownish green?”
“Just an ordinary mossy green with flecks of brown around the outer edge.”
It was small and uncertain, but for the first time since his return, Medora saw Alex smile. It wasn’t much, but it lightened her heart. She wanted more. Needed more.
She took his right hand, warmed it for a moment between her own hands, then placed his palm against her cheek. After
hesitating for a long minute, he lifted his other hand to the opposite cheek. That hand was cold, but she didn’t mind, not at all. His fingers trailed over her jaw, meeting at her chin. After lingering there a moment those fingers rose up to lightly trace her lips.
“You’re cold,” he said after his careful and soft examination.
“It’s the wind,” she answered, whispering against his fingers.
His hands rested against her face, warming her cheeks, protecting her from the cold gusts. He held her, and strong fingers fluttered across her skin. After a few moments, Alex drew his hands away from her almost reluctantly and turned his face toward the ocean again.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, not turning to her but lifting his face to the wind and squinting against the assault. “For treating you badly. For accusing you of cruelty or stupidity. I don’t suppose optimism is a character fault or a crime.”
Medora leaned in close so that Alex’s body blocked most of the chilling wind. “Apology accepted,” she whispered.
He heard the commotion—low voices, the whisper of skirts, an occasional thump—just seconds before Medora spoke.
“It’s your mother and Caroline,” she said softly, naturally. “They’re loading the wagon in rather a hurry.”
Alex was at first grateful for the explanation, and then the frustration he felt so often rose to the surface. There was a beautiful, warm woman on his arm, and she was forced to lead him around, to tell him what was happening around them because he could not see for himself.
“There you are.” His mother’s voice was quick, and he could tell from her tone that she was anxious about something. What he didn’t know was whom she addressed. Him or Medora? “I just got word from Mary Mayfield’s boy that she’s not doing well. Goodness,” she snapped in a more normal, biting tongue. “Since she’s having a baby at her age, I suppose problems are to be expected. I told her I’d be there to lend a hand, but she didn’t expect the child to arrive until after the New Year.”
“We’ll take care of things here,” Medora said calmly. “You know I will be happy to help if Elias needs me.”
“Oh, Alexander,” his mother said in a softer tone of voice, a voice that grew closer quickly as she walked to him. She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to leave now, so soon after your return, but you’re in good hands. Caroline and I will be back in time for Christmas, I hope. Goodness, that’s little more than a week away. We’ll have a feast, just like in the old days. All your favorites.”
Whose good hands did she mean? His father’s? Josh’s? He had a strong notion that his mother spoke of Medora, and that idea set off a warning he couldn’t ignore.
Medora had been too eager, too quick to offer comfort. In the past days she’d always been close, taunting him with those gentle movements, that soft voice. Always there. She had known that he needed to touch her face, to feel the smooth skin beneath his fingers. After a bit of prodding the picture of herself that she’d painted at his request had been perfect, providing him a clear image. As if she’d realized exactly what he needed. Her knowing what he needed was too easy.
Alex reassured his mother as best he could. He sent her on her way with a forced smile and listened to the wagon pull away from the tavern.
“Tell me something, Medora,” he said as she led him to the tavern entrance. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you—”
“You gave me a very vague and almost believable explanation for your presence here, and I very nearly fell for it.”
Medora was silent, and when they stood inside the tavern, away from the cold wind, she tried to release his arm. He reached out and grabbed her, catching the sleeve of her coat, using that reference to guide his other hand to her wrist. He wasn’t going to let her go until he had some answers. She didn’t struggle or attempt to pull away from him.
“Did my mother employ you to be my caretaker?” he asked.
“Alex, please, don’t be—”
“Are you here to take care of me, Medora?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer immediately, but sighed deeply. Resigned. Abandoning her initial weak protest. His heart dropped. Had he really hoped for anything different? He should know by now not to hope for anything.
“And if I am?” she responded.
He released her, turned away and took a single step before he banged his thigh against the edge of a table. Embarrassed and angry, he swore, loud and long, vile curses no lady should ever hear. When he was silent once again, Medora spoke softly.
“When the letter arrived with your news, your mother cried. Hard and long and loud, the way a mother cries for her child when he’s hurt. But you know Sarah. When those tears were gone there were no more.”
He heard her movements behind him, the whisper of every motion as she removed her coat, as she stepped softly across the floor until she stood directly behind him.
“Every night, she prays for you. She prays for a miracle to restore your sight. But Sarah is much too practical to place all her trust in miracles.”
“And that’s where you come in?” he said, placing both hands on the table before him, fixing himself solidly against the haze that threatened to overcome him.
“If you’ll allow it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then after the New Year I shall sail away from Port Wentworth, just as I said I would.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, warm and soft.
“How very clever of you,” he said darkly, “to pretend to befriend me rather than stating your purpose outright.”
“I didn’t pretend,” she whispered.
Alex turned, easily found Medora and placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he slipped those hands across her back. “How far did you plan to take this scheme?”
“It’s no—”
“How far, Medora?” he pressed. “How far were you willing to take this?”
She didn’t try to draw away from him. Instead she leaned in closer and lifted her hand to his face as if she were blind herself. “It’s not a scheme, Alex.” Her body shifted beneath his hands. “I promise you that.”
Her whispered breath touched his lips, then she kissed him. Light, sweet, tentative, the kiss was little more than a brush of her lips against his, and it didn’t last nearly long enough. Medora stepped out of his arms quietly, and he let her go. His hands trailed over her back and across her shoulders until they fell away.
Alex hardened himself against the hopes her caress provoked. “You’re very dedicated,” he said in a low voice. “But you’re wasting your time and talents. I don’t want or need a nursemaid.”
“I’m not a nursemaid,” Medora said, and he heard the rise of anger in her voice. He’d sparked that temper on his first night at home and she’d left the table in tears, or so his mother had informed him. There were no tears now, not that he could hear.
“If you’ll show me to my room,” he offered, “you’ll be free to pack your things. I’m sure there are ships sailing before the New Year.”
He waited for Medora to take his arm, to lead him to the small parlor off the main room that his mother had converted into a bedchamber so he wouldn’t be forced to attempt the stairs. But she didn’t approach. All was silent.
“The room is arranged quite simply,” she said softly. “If you turn to your right and take one step, you’ll be in the widest space in the room. A path continues uninterrupted to the stairs. There are two long tables, benches at both. If you follow the length of this first table, guiding yourself either with your leg against the bench or your hand brushing the table, and turn right again, you’ll have but a few steps to your room. I would guess, with the length of your stride, five paces will take you to your door.”
Her voice remained soft, but the information was delivered in a no-nonsense manner, without pity or hesitation. He had no choice but to follow her instructions.
He turned, his hand against the table, his leg brushing the bench. After a moment he felt sound enou
gh, his feet sure and his hands guiding him safely. At the end of the table he turned, took five steps and found himself at his door.
“Alex?” Medora called as he laid his fingers on the door handle.
“Yes?” He didn’t turn. He saw no reason to since he couldn’t see her face. God help him, he would never see her face.
“I won’t be packing.”
Medora closed her eyes when Alex slammed the door, then she reached up to sweep away the damp tears. It was not as if she wept easily. Her tears usually came, unbidden, when her temper got the best of her. Alex could rouse that temper so easily. With a word or two, with a look of resignation, he stirred the anger and frustration she so rarely felt.
She should’ve known that Alex would question her presence there, would suspect her closeness with the family as well as her interest in him. Perhaps she’d hoped that he wouldn’t challenge her until later, when she’d already had some time.
The kiss had been a mistake, but she hadn’t been able to help herself any more than she’d been able to keep from leading his hands to her face. Deep down, she’d been afraid as she’d pressed her mouth to his. Alex resented her already, perhaps even hated her. But he’d been so close, and his lips had been so tempting. Had she really thought that he would welcome her touch?
How far are you willing to go? he’d asked. Medora touched one finger to her lips, there where she still tasted him. It was a question she had not yet asked herself, but the answer was clear, immediate. She would go as far as she needed to in order to help Alex.
3
Alex lay on the soft bed, his hands behind his head as he listened to the sounds of the activity just outside his door. Laughter, shouts, low voices. Earlier in the evening, Josh had tried to cajole him into making an appearance at the town meeting, into greeting old friends and new ones over New England rum. He wasn’t ready for that. There were moments when he was certain he never would be.
He’d spent the last two days since his encounter with Medora in this room. Eating alone at the small table in the corner. Sleeping too long. Battling the headaches and the barrage of stars that teased him, shooting bright beneath his eyelids.
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