“Well, some things take a while to get over,” she mumbled.
Brant smiled. “Tell me the story…your version, why don’t you,” he suggested. Lauryn shook her head and blushed. “It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”
His face was kind and concerned. She almost felt guilty for she could see he felt badly, as if it were his fault she was feeling so attacked.
“It’s true,” she confessed. “What he said. Penny and I…we were hot. We’d been in town working in old Mrs. Robertson’s gardens all day. We were dusty and hot and tired. When we passed the millpond…well, it was dark out, and the pond looked so cool and invitin’ and so we…”
“Went skinny dipping,” he finished for her.
“But not really!” she insisted frantically. “We were still dressed. We had on our camisoles and our…our other underwear. It’s just that…well, they’re white and all. So, when we got out of the water…”
“Modesty was thrown to the wind?” he finished for her, dramatically.
“Yes,” she admitted. Then sighing relievedly she added, “I’ve always been so thankful to Mr. Jackson…that it was him that found us and helped us get dressed before everyone arrived. Besides, his sight isn’t so wonderful anymore and it was dark…so I’ve always lived in hope that…that…”
“He didn’t get a really good look at you?”
Lauryn smiled. “Yes, exactly.”
“Can I ask you something?” Brant inquired. Lauryn’s heart began to beat nervously. Did he want, perhaps, more details of that embarrassing moment in Lauryn’s life?
“I suppose,” she stammered.
“Why were you so horrified that Sean told us that story?” His question was simple, but very unexpected.
“Because…because…it’s not the most flatterin’ thing to tell. Not the wisest thing I’ve ever done either. I don’t want you to think…I don’t want your family to think that…”
“That what?” he asked in low voice as he took a step closer to her. He was so close to her now that she had to tip her head back and look straight up in order to see his face and not be looking directly at his chest.
“That I’m an absolutely ridiculous little girl who is always and forever in a mess,” she confessed. “The first glimpse your Aunt and Uncle had of me was when I was up a tree like a nine year old boy! I had a tear in the seat of my skirt, for pity’s sake!”
Brant smiled, obviously amused at the memory. “That was my first glimpse of you, too.” Again, the knife of humiliation twisted in Lauryn’s stomach. It was true! She’d momentarily forgotten that Brant had never truly seen her before that moment. Lauryn felt her shoulders sag, felt her heart seem to fall with a thud into her stomach. But Brant took her shoulders between his strong hands and told her, “And it was more perfect than I could ever have imagined.” He chuckled for a moment. Then he brushed a strand of hair from her face and asked. “Are these your roses?”
Lauryn smiled. How chivalrous of him! First to follow her out of the house, regardless of what anyone else in there might think. Then to encourage her so and, finally, to change the subject like a true gentleman would.
“Yes,” she answered. “Mama made me plant them one day after I’d torn up the garden diggin’ for…” she began.
“Laura’s bones?” he finished for her. She kept forgetting that Brant seemed to have no trouble, whatsoever, discussing the fact that Laura’s body was what they were looking for.
“Exactly,” she giggled.
“All yellow, like this one?” he asked.
“Yes. I like yellow one’s best.”
“You’ll need to show these to Aunt Felicity. You’re beginning to understand what a love of flowers she has, aren’t you?” he asked, winking at her.
“I believe I am,” she admitted.
“All right then,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I think it’s time to make our list. My time here is short and we’ve got a lot to figure out.”
Lauryn’s lighter mood darkened at his mentioning that he would be leaving soon. But he was right. Their time was short.
“Well, let’s get busy.” she agreed, plucking the lovely yellow rose blossom from it’s branch. She held the blossom out to him. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For…for…” she couldn’t just confess that it meant the world to her that he’d followed her from the parlor. “For helpin’ me. With everythin’.”
Brant accepted the rose and smelled it briefly before tucking its stem in shirt pocket. “Any time, sugar,” he chuckled. He placed his hand caressively on her cheek and smiled. Lauryn noticed the way his mouth twitched at one corner, almost indiscernibly. “Any time.” When he bent and placed a soft, rather lingering kiss on her cheek near the corner of her mouth, Lauryn thought she might truly faint! It was exhilarating to receive such affection from him and her cheek burned warm and delighted.
He took her hand then and began leading her back toward the house. “I think we should make our list in the attic,” he suggested. Lauryn was a bit disappointed that he’d changed his mind from their having their discussion in the privacy of her room. “That way we’ll have it right there at hand while you’re reading the Captain’s letters.”
“Me?” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to read them!”
“Well, I don’t either,” he chuckled as they approached the back porch of Connemara house. “Besides,” he continued playfully. “I’m a guest. It would be bad manners to force me to read them. And anyhow…you know the Captain better than me.”
“But you’re a man,” Lauryn reminded him. “You’d have more insight into his feelin’s and such.”
“Ah,” he teased. “But you’re a woman. You’ll read a woman’s letters from her lover with much more heart.”
As they climbed the stairs to the attic, after having retrieved paper and pen from Lauryn’s room, their playful banter continued. Lauryn saying, “But if you read them, I’ll be able to listen as she would’ve listened to him speak and…”
“But she didn’t hear him speak if she was reading a letter. So, you see, you need to read them.” He still smiled devilishly, as he pushed open the attic door and stepped aside for her to enter.
In the end, Lauryn would win out and Brant would begin to read the letters. As they sat in the attic, night having fallen fully, Lauryn listened intently as he read. The deep intonation of his voice was intoxicating. Lauryn reached back and tugged at the ribbon that held her braid, releasing her hair and laying down on the floor in front of Brant, propped herself up on one elbow as she looked at him and listened.
“The fighting is brutal, my beauty,” he read. “The dying men, the blood, the stench of rotting flesh. Sometimes at night…even when there’s a breeze that blows the smell away…even then the stink of war seems to be branded into my nostrils and I can’t smell anything else. I try to imagine Connemara…you sitting out in the gazebo under the wisteria blossoms. I try and try to remember how it smelled, that beloved fragrance of your favorite bloom. But it eludes me, darling. Still…I can see you there…see your beauty. So, at least my mind has beautiful visions to dream of.”
Brant paused in his reading and Lauryn fancied there was excess moisture in his eyes. He blinked several times and then continued.
“Tom Harper was lost today. They didn’t get his leg sawed off fast enough and he bled to death. I’ll miss him sorely. It was such a great comfort having him here…a hometown boy…someone with such a close connection to the family, estranged though it was.
Write to me, my angel. Let me feel your love for me through your words. I need you so much, every minute of every day. I fight for you, even if I am on the wrong side in some eyes. I’m fighting for you…to end this Hell so that we can be together again. I’ll try not to write such dreadful things next time. But it’s hard to think of anything else to tell you. All that there is now is death, blood, mud, fire. Just remember that I love you, my Sweet Lauralynn. Soon we’ll be together again, I
’ll hold you in my arms and let the sweet scent of your hair fill my lungs…let it make my mind forget the stench of war. I’ll let the taste of your kiss free me from the bitterness of losing friends daily.
I love you,
Brand.”
Lauryn did not miss the deep understanding written across Brant’s face. The Captain’s description of the horrors of war were, not doubt, too fresh in Brand’s own mind to be at all comfortable.
“It’s hotter than Hell up here,” he swore under his breath as he began to unbutton his shirt. “Sorry,” he apologized half-heartedly. Lauryn didn’t say anything. It wasn’t hot in the attic at all. The evening breeze blew threw the open window giving a very cool environment to them. No doubt his blood was boiling because of the residue of war still in his mind.
“Let’s stop for a while,” Lauryn suggested. “Let’s look at the list.”
Brant sighed heavily, a frown still puckering his brow. He nodded rather indifferently and Lauryn began to look over the list.
“All right. What do we know?” she began.
“We know that it’s hotter than Hell up here,” he grumbled taking off his shirt and rather angrily throwing it down on the floor. “Sorry.”
Lauryn smiled, amused yet sympathetic, and continued. “She’s not in the house. She’s not in the springhouse. She’s not in the servant’s house. She’s not in the cellar or the basement.”
“And she ain’t out waltzing around with that statue out by the cemetery,” Brant spat.
Lauryn smiled, understandingly. “She was still alive the last time Nana and the others saw her. She had a child’s teacup with her at some point…”
“Which reminds me,” Brant interrupted. “Your grandmother said she never saw that tea set again after that day. Does that mean it was looted away by soldiers? But why would soldiers have any interest in baby toys and why would Laura have one of the cups with her?”
Lauryn shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You read for a while,” Brant demanded, tossing a packet of letters to Lauryn. He realized then his rude manner and added a sincere, “Please.”
“Maybe we should take a rest from this for awhile, Brant. After all, it’s getting late and we really haven’t learned much.”
“It’s only midnight and we’ve learned plenty. We’ve learned that the stink of war never changes.” He was angry, hurting. But Lauryn did not argue with him. As he stretched out on his side next to her on the floor, Lauryn tired to ignore the thrill that traveled through her at the sight of his shirtlessness. The muscles in his arms and chest had been quite impressive when he’d been at Connemara months before. But it was now obvious that he’d been laboring hard the months he’d been at home. For his body was bigger, his muscles even more defined and impressive.
So clearing her throat and forcing her concentration to the letter in hands, she began to read.
“My darling, Laura,
I’m so sorry that I can’t be with you just now. The turmoil at Connemara over this incident must be incredible. Just know that all will be well. Love continues even when someone is lost and you will always have that.”
“Who was lost?” Brant asked, yawning.
Lauryn shrugged. “This letter isn’t dated, but I’m sure it must be her brother Ethan. He was killed in the war.”
“That’s right,” Brant mumbled as he rolled over onto his back and tucked his hands beneath his head.
“And you’ll always have me, my love. Forever,” Lauryn continued. But when she looked to Brant, it was apparent that he was already sleeping. She smiled, thinking it amusing that he, who had just told her that midnight wasn’t late, was unable to remain conscious a moment longer. But she would continue reading anyway. For one thing, it was far to wonderful to have him so near to her and for another, maybe it would be better on his war tortured mind for her to read through the Captain’s experiences on her own. That way she could search for clues without having Brant further disturbed by his own memories.
She continued reading aloud even though she was alone in her consciousness.
“War is still war, my love. But I’m determined to write of something else. It can not be good for you to only know of the terrible things I see. So…there’s a young man here, my own age and he’s quite good at playing the guitar. His voice is fairly on key as well and he’s memorized ‘Sweet Lauralynn’ without even realizing how close he is to its root. He does a fair job of rendering it and I tell him so. I’ve told him your name, though nothing else, and he says that when the war is over he’d love to come and sing it to you in person. I carry your image of course, and he said you were exactly the kind of woman that must have inspired the songwriter. How is that for irony, my sweet?”
Lauryn’s eyelids were feeling heavy and she couldn’t stifle the yawn that rose in her throat. One moment’s rest of her eyes surely wouldn’t hurt.
Brant lay stretched out on the attic floor, his head propped up on one elbow as he watched her. Lauryn was next to him, sound asleep. He had awaken to find Lauryn asleep, her hair spread beneath her head like a blanket of soft, spun spice. In her hand, which lay at the side of her head, she still loosely held one of the Captain’s letters. Her face was soft and at peace, the slightest of sweet smiles on her lips.
I am in so much trouble, he thought as he reached out and took some of her hair in his hand and raised it to his face, drinking in the essence of its natural perfume. The situation was inappropriate at best. If someone were to find them, he only half clothed, she laying there, hair free, barefoot and several of the buttons of her blouse undone…well, Georgia Kensington would have no choice but to throw him out on his behind.
And, as far as his own self-control was concerned…he reached over and picked up his shirt, putting it on angrily and starting to button it. But again, he was distracted by the way she bewitched him completely. He knew the feel of her lips. He’d kissed her twice before. Now his craving wanted the taste of her kiss again. There was not a doubt in his mind that it would be pure nectar, sweet and perfect.
He shook his head and rubbed at his temples. Time to retreat, he knew. But she stirred and sighed in her sleep and the sigh left her lips parted ever so slightly. It was too much. Even for a man of Brant Masterson’s impeccable character. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly as he studied her. Carefully, he leaned over her, placing one of his powerful hands on either side of her small, curvaceous form. He shouldn’t do it, and he knew it, but she’d bewitched him. Even in her sleep, she’d managed to bewitch him and ever so carefully he bent and….didn’t kiss her the way he wanted to, for he knew that the pressure from that kiss would wake her. Slowly, very carefully, he bent and slowly caressed her parted lips with the softest of his kisses. It was far more ambrosiatic—the taste of her—than he’d even imagined and he was surprised and pleased, when she smiled in her sleep, sighed heavily and moistened her lips as if she’d tasted something delightful herself.
One more inhalation of her, the scent and feel of her hair, and he rose to his feet. He was weak and in a dangerous state of mind. He would leave her without even the courtesy of waking her. For he feared if he lingered, even for a moment…if he woke her and she looked at him with that dreamy expression she sometimes had in his presence…he was an honorable man, but this fairy tempted him too deeply. Mustering every strength and resolve in self-control he could, Brant left the attic and retired, if somewhat fitfully, to his own room.
Chapter Eleven
Lauryn inhaled deeply of the fresh, spring air sweetly scented with the perfume of every colorful flower imaginable that grew along Main Street. She was returning from posting a letter in town for her mother.
Brant and his Aunt and Uncle had been at Connemara for nearly a week. During that week, Lauryn and Brant spent days upon days searching, reading the Captain’s letters to Laura and talking. Amazingly enough, even with the seriousness of their search always looming, they did find time to laugh, go
for walks and talk of other things.
Still, Lauryn went to bed every night nearly sick to her stomach with anxiety, wondering how long she would have Brant. She knew he had agreed to stay at least until the McGovern’s party on Saturday. But that was only a few more days. Then what? He had to return home eventually, and she dreaded the day he would tell her he was going.
Brant went to play stickball with Patrick that morning, and Lauryn’s mother, sensing her unrest, sent her to town to post a letter. She walked toward home now, along Main, admiring the loveliness of spring. It did give a body hope. Hope in mystery solving—hope in love.
“The little rat,” Lauryn mumbled as she saw Sean’s automobile parked in the street in front of Connemara house. She was still furious with him for embarrassing her that evening at dinner nearly a week ago. She’d never forgive him for telling the skinny dipping story to Brant. But she would enact her revenge, teach him not to do the like ever again.
Sean treasured that blasted auto of his. Even as Lauryn stood at his feet, listening to his carefree whistle as he worked, she knew how intent he was on making sure it was in perfect working order.
“Typical,” she mumbled, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at his legs protruding from beneath the auto. “Always tinkerin’ around with that blasted contraption,” she muttered.
Sean hadn’t heard her approach, she knew, for he did not pause in either his whistling or his tinkering. From just above the waist, Sean was wedged under the auto and Lauryn could hear the familiar sounds of metal on metal as he fiddled with whatever gadget in the contraption that was giving him grief that day.
And then, oh, impish girl that she was…she felt an amused smile spread across her face as the perfect idea took shape in her clever mind. Yes! A brilliant idea! What a genius of prank she could be when given the opportunity. There he lay, completely unaware of her presence. His shoes, socks and shirt lay in a heap, nearby. There he was, his hands busy, his mind distracted and in a position that left him unable to escape. He had made it too easy! He was losing his edge! Lauryn knew that once Sean began fiddling on his auto, he was oblivious to all else around him, completely vulnerable and unsuspecting.
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