The Fragrance of Her Name

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Have you got everthin’ you’ll be needin’ for the night?” Lauryn asked.

  “I do,” he assured her, beginning to unbutton his shirt even though she still stood in his presence.

  “Well, then…I guess I’ll be leavin’ you to your rest,” Lauryn stammered.

  “Too tired for ghost stories, tonight?” he asked.

  “Never,” she assured him, excitedly, her mood lifting.

  Brant didn’t bother to rebutton his shirt, simply let it hang open as he sat down on his bed obviously ready for discussion. Lauryn went to the chair that sat in the opposite corner and pushed it over to the bed so that she could sit just across from him. She was feeling more comfortable with him. Afterall, she’d known him for an entire day.

  “Laura’s lost,” Brant began. “She’s not wet, she’s not hurt anywhere else but her stomach.” Lauryn nodded, acknowledging that these were facts known to them both now. “She’s still wearing her jewelry…”

  “So it wasn’t thievin’ Yankees that found her,” Lauryn finished for him.

  “That’s what I think.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Why the fragrance, though?” he asked, mostly to himself. “I’ve never been able to figure that out.”

  Lauryn shrugged and simultaneously offered, “Perfume?”

  “I don’t think so. Though it is perfumey.” Brant seemed pensive again, then added, “Oh, well.” He moved on. “Mud stains at the hem of her dress. Was it raining that day?”

  “Nana never mentioned it but we could ask her specifically.” Lauryn could feel the excitement rising in her bosom. Brant would help her! She knew he would! Something in his mind, in his memory was the key.

  “She weeps when she thinks of Brand…but also when I mention her family. She’s mournful over someone else,” Brant suggested.

  “Her father maybe? Or just being separated from them?”

  Brant nodded. “Maybe.”

  “What else?” Lauryn prodded.

  “Sometimes…though actually not in recent years,” he began. “She would be holding a little cup. Maybe a tea cup. But she hasn’t had that in her hand for years and years.”

  “A little teacup? A child’s teacup?” Lauryn was puzzled by this bit of information.

  “Maybe,” Brant mumbled.

  Lauryn was intrigued. Why would Laura be holding a teacup? “Was it a child’s teacup? Or maybe a demitasse?”

  Brant smiled and shook his head. “Hell, I wouldn’t know! That’s girl stuff.” He quickly mumbled an apologetic, “Sorry,” for having sworn in her presence. Lauryn smiled, amused and again unconvinced of the sincerity of his apology. “I hadn’t thought of that little cup in years. How strange. I can see it clear as ever in my mind’s eye now,” he seemed to think out loud.

  “It must be important,” Lauryn assured him, excitedly. “Go on. What kinds of things would she talk about…try to make you understand, I mean?”

  Brant shrugged. “It’s hard to know where her giving me every clue she could ends…and where our friendship begins.” He lay back, stretching his legs out on the bed and tucking his hands behind his head. As his shirt fell open, revealing the well-defined lines of his chest and ribcage, Lauryn reminded herself that he was obviously a returning soldier used to being in the company of men only. Still, she gave him no modesty reprimand and simply tried to avert her gaze. This was difficult however, because the revealed section of his body was quite impressive. And to one so inexperienced in such sights as Lauryn was, it was still unnerving.

  “Just tell me anythin’,” she urged. “There might be things that don’t seem important to you…that might be significant for me to know.”

  Brant nodded and thought for a moment. “She has always wanted me to come here…to Connemara,” he mentioned. “When I was younger I’d say, ‘Someday I’ll go to Connemara, Laura…’ and she would cheer up and nod frantically. She always wanted me here.”

  “To look for her?” Lauryn asked.

  “It’s the obvious answer. Maybe to make absolutely certain that Brandon was safe. She knew he was searching for her because I’d told her about you. But she really is quite selfless and I know she worries for him.” He yawned and Lauryn knew he needed his rest.

  “You’re tired. We can talk more tomorrow,” she said. She hoped he would assure her that he was fine and ask her to stay. There was so much to be unraveled. And so little time.

  But instead, he nodded and said, “Yep. Maybe my mind will be less foggy in the morning.” Then, much to Lauryn’s surprise, he sat up, stripped off his shirt completely and fumbled with it until it hung haphazardly on the bedpost. “I like mornings. But I notice that you down here in the south…are more night people. I can’t keep up.” He smiled and Lauryn stood, replacing the chair in case he should get up in the night and it would be in his way.

  “Hot days, cooler nights, I suppose,” she muttered. “Good night then, Brant.”

  “Good night, Lauryn.” And it was done.

  It wasn’t until Lauryn returned to her own bedroom and found the Captain pacing anxiously back and forth across the room that she even realized she hadn’t spoken to him all day.

  “Oh, Captain!” she began to apologize. “I’m so sorry! It’s just that…”

  The Captain nodded, smiled understandingly and interrupted, “Does he know anything that will help you?”

  Lauryn shrugged. “I’m sure he does. He told me several things tonight that I think must be pertinent. I just have to sort it out and…and…I’m afraid it will still take some time, Captain.”

  She could see the disappointment on his face, although he smiled and reached out taking her hand in his. “I know. I just…I’ve no right to be impatient but…”

  “You have every right to be impatient!” Lauryn exclaimed. “And my bein’ gone for so long was pretty selfish.”

  “No.” the Captain argued firmly. “You must have a life, too, Lauryn. A life of your own. That is one of the reasons this frustrates me so…watching you waste your life because of me.”

  Lauryn smiled and threw herself into the Captain’s warm embrace. “That’s nonsense and you know it. What fun would my life have been, up to now, without my best beau?” she teased, trying to find the light-heartedness that she seemed to be losing.

  The Captain chuckled and patted Lauryn affectionately on the back as he returned her hug. “Well, you’re older now, sweetheart. It’s time you had a real beau…one that is still alive.” He embraced her for a moment longer and then, releasing her reminded, “His time here is very short, Lauryn. I want you to make the most of it…do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Lauryn assured him.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he demanded. “I’m here and there all the time. Spend your time with him. Understand?”

  “I will,” she agreed, and tried not to feel guilty for the pure delight she felt at the prospect of carrying out the Captain’s order. “And don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll pick his brain raw. I’ll find her…for you. I promise.”

  The Captain shook his head, seeming amused. “Don’t pick it too raw, angel. And…and spend some time enjoying yourself. Don’t be afraid to…”

  “I am enjoyin’ myself,” she interrupted. She didn’t want him to say anything further. She didn’t want him to add any further hope to the beautiful dreams of owning Brant Masterson that were already lurking in the corners of her mind.

  The Captain smiled in understanding. “I see,” he mumbled. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” Then putting his hand to Lauryn’s cheek and cupping it affectionately, he vanished.

  Lauryn sighed, heavily. Her mind was a messy cupboard of wondering and confusion. The Captain was right. Brant would only be at Connemara a few more days. She must get every morsel of information she could from him. And with the short time given her in his presence, she would let her heart soak up every ounce of the perfect dream he was.

  Amazingly, sleep came quickly to Lauryn that night. And her last thought before
drifting off to slumber was, “I hope Brant is warm enough.”

  

  “So…is it as bad as everyone says?” Patrick asked, as he sat near the creek with Brant.

  Brant smiled. He could well remember when war seemed like an exciting adventure to him, too. But that was before he knew the reality of it

  “Yep,” he answered the small boy. “It’s worse.”

  “But…when you’re fightin’ you feel good ‘cause you’re doin’ the right thing. You know you have to do it to protect your home,” Patrick begged. Brant remembered, too, how important it was to know that war was necessary sometimes. That it was a righteous cause. That it was done to protect everything a man held dear.

  “That’s right. It’s what keeps you going.” Brant could hear the pebbles Patrick was tossing hit the water’s surface. “You have to remember why you went.”

  “I’d go,” Patrick stated. “I’d go for my family… for Connemara.”

  “Yep. That’s why I went,” Brant confirmed.

  “Did you have a girl at home when you left?” Patrick asked. Brant chuckled. He liked the way this boy’s mind worked. And Brant did notice the similarity between Patrick’s way of thinking and Lauryn’s.

  “Not when I left. I had a girl before…but…she wasn’t right for me,” Brant confessed.

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Yep. Very pretty.”

  “Was she as pretty as my sister?” Patrick’s question wasn’t meant to be cruel. It was honest. The boy obviously didn’t spend his time noticing that Brant was sightless and couldn’t see Lauryn. And suddenly it bothered Brant all the more that he, indeed, was not able to see her. Surely a girl with Lauryn Kensington’s inquisitive mind, sweet voice and compassion would be attractive physically as well.

  “Oh, I highly doubt that she was as pretty as your sister, Patrick,” Brant told the boy. Then a thought struck him. “What does your sister look like?”

  “Oh,” Patrick chuckled. “I plum forgot you were blind.” Another pebble made a splash in the creek. “Well, it’s hard for me to say…she is my sister and all and…”

  “I won’t tell her if you say anything nice about her,” Brant assured the boy, completely amused at his full understanding of the boy’s need to irritate his sister mercilessly and never to be caught being nice.

  “Well…lots of men think she is really pretty. Beautiful, in fact. She thinks she’s ugly and I just let her go on thinkin’ it.” Brant chuckled as the boy continued. “She’s always in a pickle…but what does she look like? Hmmm? Let’s see…she’s got brown hair, a nice smile, good teeth, small ears and her nose ain’t too big. Does that help at all?”

  Smiling, Brant nodded his assurance. “Thank you, Patrick. And I won’t tell Lauryn you said anything nice about her.”

  “Whew!” Patrick exclaimed. “Now…back to the war. Tell me some real messy stuff! Some stuff that will give me bad, bad dreams!”

  Brant laughed. The boy was great fun! “All right. But don’t you go waking up in the night with nightmares and get me in trouble with your Mama.”

  “I won’t! I won’t! I swear it!” Patrick promised excitedly.

  So Brant granted Patrick’s wishes of curiosity and adventure. But not too graphically. And he was glad for the boy’s company. It brightened his spirit. Still, he kept wishing that Lauryn would return from whatever errand her mother had sent her on so they could continue their conversations.

  

  It was night before Lauryn was able to steal Brant away, trap him in his bedroom and “pick his brain” again. Something delighted in her as she watched him getting ready to retire. She was enchanted by his habitual ritual of unbuttoning his shirt but not removing it right away. She wondered if this had always been his habit. Or did he simply leave it on longer because she was in the room.

  “Why hasn’t your brother ever enlisted in your search?” Brant asked as he ran his fingers through his hair and sat down on his bed. Lauryn was sitting in a chair across from him the way she had the prior two nights.

  Sakes alive! she thought. If Brant Masterson wasn’t the handsomest man ever born on earth, well then, she couldn’t imagine who was.

  “You…you mean, Sean?” she stammered trying to redirect her attention from his attractive form back to his question.

  “Yeah.”

  Lauryn sighed heavily. “Sean thinks I’m an idiot,” she stated.

  Brant laughed and it was captivating to see him do it. His smile was incredible.

  “He does not,” he chuckled.

  “He does so,” Lauryn assured him. “He’s been tellin’ me that since I was in diapers. He always calls me “The Mad Ghost Girl” and shakes his head.”

  “He has to tease you. He’s your brother.” Brant seemed to understand all too well the male need to irritate his female siblings.

  “Isn’t there anythin’ else?” Lauryn pleaded. “Somethin’ else you know?” In her heart she knew she was pleading for information to give herself more time in his presence. But she tried to rationalize it by quietly whispering, in her mind, that the mystery simply needed solving.

  Brant frowned. Discouraged as always. “I can’t think of….there’s the smell about her, the little cup, the stains on her dress, the locket, her rings…she taught me to play the piano, she’d hold my head in her lap at night and stroke my hair until I fell asleep. She’d play games with me…games that none of my friends knew. A couple of times Lauralynn even had me playing tea party with a bunch of my sister’s old dolls. If I didn’t catch hell…heck for that…I never caught it for anything.” He cleared his throat and added, “Sorry about the ‘hell’.”

  Lauryn bit her lip, barely stifling a delighted giggle. Her mother would be horrified if she knew that her daughter found a man’s habit of swearing attractive in a way.

  “You played tea party?” Lauryn asked. The soft laughter in her voice was not restrainable.

  “Yes, I played tea party.” he grumbled. “Didn’t you ever play tea party?”

  He was blushing! She was certain of it. Yes. Brant Masterson was blushing!

  “Well, yes I did play tea party, Mr. Masterson,” Lauryn admitted. “But…but that would be a little more expected. Don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He shook his head. “Let’s go on to something else.”

  But something tickled Lauryn’s brain. “Don’t you find it just the least bit odd that she would want you to play tea party?”

  “I was a little boy. I’m sure she was just finding ways to try to amuse me,” he answered.

  “But you said she played games with you. Other games. Sisters…and Laura was a sister…sisters know how much little boys loathe playin’ things like tea party. Why would she want you to?”

  “Sisters also like to humiliate their brothers,” he growled.

  “Did…did she still have the cup when y’all played tea party?” Lauryn found it completely odd that Laura would nurture such a thing with young Brant. It had to have meaning.

  “At first…” he mumbled. “But…now that I think of it…it was when the tea cup stopped coming with her that she stopped trying to get me to play that.”

  Suddenly, Lauryn couldn’t contain herself any longer. As serious as the situation was…as desperate as she was to find Laura for the Captain…the vision in her mind of Brant Masterson playing tea party with a bunch of his sister’s dolls and a ghost woman was too much. She erupted into delighted laughter, unable to stop to even catch a good breath.

  “Laugh it up, sugar,” Brant growled. “Who knows what kind of damage that did to me. I’ll probably turn out to be a lunatic.”

  Still Lauryn couldn’t stop laughing. “It’s…it’s just too cute to imagine and not laugh a little!”

  “A little?” But she heard the slight chuckle in his voice. Then he stood up and, shaking his head, began to unfasten his trousers.

  “What are you doin’?” Lauryn nearly gasped.

  “Going to bed,” h
e stated. “So…unless you’re planning on jumping in with me…”

  Lauryn stood up, with indignation. His threatening to undress in front of her was completely improper! Outrageous and intolerable! But his final remark…the implication he made was just plain hedonistic.

  “I’m sorry if my laughin’ offended you…but that gives you no right to…” she began to scold.

  “Your laughing didn’t offend me. And don’t act so shocked.” He chuckled. Looking up into his bandaged eyes, she was mesmerized by the movement of his mouth as he spoke. “And don’t try to tell me that your brothers never dropped their drawers in front of you before.”

  “Patrick is a child,” she reminded him. “And as for Sean…he’s a heathen! AND he’s my brother, anyway.”

  “Well…if it will make you feel better, Miss Kensington…go ahead,” Brant suggested. A deliciously devilish smile spread across his face.

  “Go ahead and what?” Lauryn asked.

  “Go ahead and strip down yourself.”

  Lauryn gasped. “Why you…” she began to reprimand. But his smile faded and the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.

  “What harm would it do? It’s not like I can see you, now. Is it?” he growled.

  There it was. That defiant, defeated, self-loathing that Lauryn had begun to recognize as Brant’s last line of defense. Whenever things got too comfortable, whenever he began to smile or feel better, he called upon it. Her heart ached for him and yet…if he continued to be beaten…his life would never be full.

  And so she made her decision.

  “You’re right, of course,” she whispered. Then pulling one of her hands from his grasp, she reached up touching his face tenderly. He turned his face from her, uncomfortable with her touch. “I could strip down buck naked right now and it wouldn’t even be improper, would it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he growled again. She noticed the heightened red in his face. “Of course it would.”

  “But you’re standin’ here in just your trousers. Aren’t you?” she asked him.

  “I’m wearing my underwear, too” he grumbled.