The Fragrance of Her Name

by Marcia Lynn McClure

“But I like the wolf in you,” Lauryn admitted. She knew she was tired and wondered if she was really awake. Surely, she hadn’t really said that to him.

  Brant grinned, his eyebrows raised in slight astonishment. “Really?” he asked, doubtful. Lauryn thrilled at the slight twitching at the corner of his mouth. He wanted to kiss her! He truly did! She knew it. But would he without urging? She wasn’t certain.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered, turning in his arms so that he now cradled her, allowing for her to gaze up at him. She let her hands travel caressively up and over the contours of his chest to rest at his shoulders.

  “Lauryn you’re playing with fire, here and I don’t think…” he warned. But some imp alighted on her shoulder and she ignored him.

  “You said you brought me along in case you needed a snack, Brant,” she whispered softly. The look of astonishment on his face was delightful and she giggled quietly. Brant’s surprise was short lived, however. In the next moment he took her chin in hand and began an extensive enjoyment of her mouth.

  

  “So, you’re Lauryn,” Darnell Masterson greeted, giving Lauryn a friendly kiss to the back of her hand.

  “Yes, sir,” she confirmed, recognizing instantly from whence Brant inherited his good looks. “And it’s nice to meet you. Thank you so much for havin’ me. I…”

  “Having you? You mean, harboring a kidnapper and his hostage,” the man chuckled as he glanced at Brant, who had just returned from settling Uncle Johnny and Aunt Felicity into the house. Darnell Masterson was nearly as tall as Brant, with dark hair that had silvered at his temples.

  “When I got Brant’s telegram from your last stop, I thought, ‘I’m gonna turn that boy over my knee!’ But now I see…I wouldn’t have been able to leave you either.”

  “Lauryn’s here to help me go through the Captain’s things,” Brant explained.

  “Hell, I know that Brant. You don’t have to tell me,” Darnell chuckled. Lauryn smiled, noting that Brant’s father made no effort to apologize for his swearing. She was delighted by the fact that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree where this father and son were concerned.

  Just then, an auto in which were two beautiful, black-haired young women pulled up into the dirt drive in front of the Masterson home. The two women alighted immediately, rushing forward in a flurry of raven locks and swaying skirts.

  “Brant! Brant!” they called simultaneously, two sets of blue eyes flashing with excitement. “Our baby is home!” Brant chuckled as the two females, obviously his sisters Rose and April, captured him in loving embraces, smothering him with kisses.

  “You handsome fool! What have you done?” One of the young ladies asked, nodding in Lauryn’s direction. “He didn’t molest you in any way, did he, Miss Kensington?” she asked.

  Lauryn couldn’t stop the heated blush that rose to her cheeks and before she could answer, the other woman scolded her little brother. “Brant, you devil!”

  “She’s fine. She’s fine. Aren’t you, Lauryn?” Brant chuckled.

  “Yes,” Lauryn squeaked. Instantly, the two sisters were upon her.

  “I love your hair!” one said. “Isn’t this the most beautiful hair you’ve ever seen, Rose?”

  “Oh my, yes!” Rose agreed. “Our little nieces-to-be will look so lovely with this in french braids.”

  “April,” Brant scolded. “Knock it off. Lauryn’s not use to that kind of teasing.”

  The sisters looked to one another, skeptical, then back to their little brother. “Is that right, Brant?”

  “Welcome to Castledale, Lauryn,” April greeted, taking Lauryn’s hand in her own. “We’re quite a herd of characters, you know. I hope you can stand us.” Lauryn could only smile and nod. It was like having Aunt Felicity twice over and younger standing before her. The teasing manner, even their features were similar.

  “Come on into the house, sweet thing,” Rose said, putting a reassuring arm around Lauryn’s shoulder. “You must be worn to a frazzle.”

  “Let’s get you fed and rested,” April suggested, taking Lauryn’s hand and pulling her into the house. “Then you can tell us all about your trip.”

  As an afterthought, April looked back to her father and Brant. “We’ll get some supper on, Daddy. Brant, be a dear and dig up Parker, will you. I think he’s out in the orchards.”

  “Well, you’re as bossy as ever,” Brant said.

  “And just as cute,” April giggled. “So you still can’t tell me ‘no’, can you?”

  

  “So,” Rose continued as everyone sat around the table after dinner. “Brant comes downstairs one day and tells us he’s got a ghost in his room. We, of course, just think he’s fooling. I mean you know how he is, Lauryn. And he’s been like that since he was born.”

  Parker was present, and April’s and Rose’s husbands and small babies. It had been quite a different dinner than Lauryn had been used to. The babies (there were three, two were April’s and one belonged to Rose,) were toddling or crawling around merrily while the adults ate. Once in a while, Parker would toss a crumb to the oldest child, after whistling to him as though he were calling a dog. Lauryn, at first, wasn’t certain whether she should be horrified at the treatment of the child, or amused. But when everyone from Darnell on down, broke into laughter and applause, delighting the child with admiration, she realized that it must be a special sort of “trick” shared by the family.

  “Anyway,” Rose raved on. “I was scared to go into Brant’s room for months afterward!”

  “You’re scared to go in his room now, Rose,” April reminded.

  “And you’re not?” Rose asked.

  “Not if Brant goes with me,” April defended herself. Lauryn looked at Brant. He winked at her, obviously as amused as she was at the bantering of the two talkative sisters.

  “And then Aunt Felicity talked your very own grandmother into coming up. I remember thinking she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen next to Mother,” Rose sighed.

  “Yes. I can remember wishing I had been from the south so I could be so beautiful and refined,” April agreed.

  “We’re going, Darnell,” April’s husband, Roy, said as he stood and offered a hand to his father-in-law.

  “Roy isn’t much for talking,” Brant explained in a whisper to Lauryn. “Probably because he never has the chance.” Lauryn stifled her own laughter, even though the very same thought had crossed her mind.

  “Now, Roy? You can’t be serious.” April argued. Nevertheless, she reached down and picked up the toddler that had wearily laid his head on her lap.

  “I’m certain Miss Kensington needs some rest. And there’s no way in Hell Felicity and John are getting any sleep with all this cackling going on,” Anthony, Rose’s husband, added, standing and also shaking Darnell’s hand.

  “You all have a good evening,” Darnell said as he kissed his daughters and grandbabies affectionately.

  “I cannot believe you are dragging us away like this,” Rose protested, as Anthony helped her gather the baby. “And you swore in front of Lauryn! I’m certain she isn’t used to such language where she comes from.”

  “Hell, no. They’re refined southerners at Connemara,” Brant exclaimed emphatically, sending all the men into triumphant laughter.

  April and Rose gasped and turned to Lauryn. “If you get tired of all this…this barbaric nonsense,” Rose told her, “You have Brant drive you on over to our place. You hear me?”

  “Thank you. I will,” Lauryn said nodding and realized it was the first thing she’d said since dinner ended.

  Everyone stood on the front porch waved as Brant’s sisters and their families drove away. Once they were out of sight, Lauryn giggled when Brant, Parker and their father concurrently sighed with relief.

  “Roy and Anthony will both be deaf before they’re thirty,” Parker mumbled.

  Darnell chuckled and patted him on the back. “Well, your Violet is a quiet little thing, Park. Your ears shouldn’t b
e in danger.” Lauryn felt her nerves tighten when Darnell turned to her next. She couldn’t relax in his presence, for inwardly, she longed for his approval. “And what about you, Lauryn?” he asked. “Are you a quiet one? It’s hard for us to know…no one gets a word in edgewise when April and Rose are in the house.”

  Lauryn smiled. “I’m afraid I can talk a pretty mean streak when I have a mind too, sir.”

  Darnell chuckled. “I bet you can.” He nodded his head approvingly and winked at her. “And why don’t you call me Darnell, instead of sir.”

  “Why…I couldn’t possibly,” Lauryn argued.

  “Well, how about ‘Mr. Masterson’ at least. I’m not used to all this respect,” Brant’s father teased.

  “All right,” Lauryn agreed. “I’ll try my best.” Darnell chuckled again, then turning to Brant patted him firmly on the shoulder as he had Parker.

  “Well, tuck her in tight, my boy. Felicity was done in and is probably sawing logs for the night.” Brant nodded at his father and Darnell turned to Lauryn, once more. “Keep him in line, my girl,” he added with a wink. “He’s a bit too much like me to be trusted completely.”

  

  “This was the girls’ room when they were home,” Brant explained as he spread an extra quilt over one of the two beds in the small, delicately decorated room where Lauryn would be staying. “I built a fire, too. Figured you’d be cold.”

  Lauryn stood staring at Brant. He was so magnificent, and his home was so cozy, wonderful and welcoming. He fluffed the pillow on her bed and she smiled, pulling his jacket more tightly about her shoulders. He had draped his jacket around her shoulders early in the evening when she had been chilled. She loved wearing it. It smelled like him, was warm and large like he was.

  Having been raised in the warmest of weather, and never having been further north in her life than Knoxville, Lauryn was quite chilly in Vermont. She wished Brant’s arms were keeping her warm and not merely his jacket.

  “Aunt Felicity laid out some things for you before she went to bed,” Brant said, pointing to the nightdress laying on a nearby chair. “And if you need anything else,” he added as he stood gazing down at her, “I’m right across the hall.” Lauryn could only nod her understanding. She feared if she spoke, she might simply ask him to ravish her with a good night kiss.

  “All right, then,” he sighed. “I’ll leave you to your sweet dreams.” He started to walk past her to the door, but paused. Looking down at her he grinned and asked, “What do you dream about, Lauryn?”

  Lauryn smiled, trying to appear as if her heart wasn’t hammering nearly out of her chest because of his nearness. Shrugging she answered, “I don’t know. It mostly depends on what I’ve been thinkin’ about before I go to sleep.”

  “Really?” he chuckled. “So…” he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “So, if I were to say…be the last thing you saw before you fell asleep…do you think I might make an appearance?”

  Lauryn cast her eyes down shyly. He probably suspected that all her dreams were built around him anyway. But she’d play his game. “Maybe,” she admitted.

  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to look up at him. “What would I have to do to be in your dreams, Lauryn?” he asked in the deep, provocative tone that made her mouth begin to water.

  Exist, she thought. But she said, “Anythin’.” He smiled, triumphantly and pulled her against his body burying his face in her hair for a moment before lingeringly kissing her neck. He kissed her cheek, her temple and then her neck once more. Lauryn thought she might actually scream with frustration if he didn’t kiss her fully on the mouth soon. And still his face lingered at her throat until finally, the moisture in her mouth, her need for reassurance pushed her beyond the limits of her own shyness. Taking his face in her hands, she directed his kiss to her lips. When at last he kissed her dominantly, demandingly, it was if the greatest thirst she’d ever known was being quenched, satisfied, but at the same time remaining unsatisfied.

  He broke the seal of their lips and kissed her forehead as he whispered, “Goodnight, Lauryn. And if that doesn’t get me into your dreams…I doubt that I can make it at all.” With a wink, he left her alone, but much warmer than she’d been all evening.

  

  The battle raged violent and mercilessly in the fields and streets of Franklin. Men were lying in the blood-soaked grasses of Tennessee…men were dying in the soft grasses of Tennessee. Men in uniform, gray uniforms with brass buttons. Buttons tarnished with blood and mud. Brass buttons with the letters “CSA” embossed on them. Young men. Men in gray…no. Men in a worn hue of green. Men in brown and green uniforms. Uniforms splattered with mud. Men lying in trenches, covered in mud and blood. No! Men lying in grass. Young men, very young men, lying in the Tennessee grass that was now stained blood red. But…the men were in trenches! There were no brass buttons on these men. No buttons with the initials “CSA” on them. These men were in trenches in brown and green uniforms. But they were in…

  “She’s having a nightmare,” came Brant’s voice on the wind. “Wake her up, Laura.”

  The visions of dying men, whether in gray uniforms in the grass or brown ones in the trenches, began to fade. In their place were visions of home. Of beautiful, comforting, safe Connemara. Connemara, fragrant with Spring’s wisteria and Nana’s cinnamon rolls. Connemara with the Captain sitting out by Henry watching Patrick play, the small boy completely unaware of his audience. Connemara with its lace and velvets, its pansies and ghost.

  Someone was stroking her hair. A soft hand, a woman’s hand. Lauryn could feel a soothing touch smoothing her brow and Connemara was there, too. For the fragrance of Connemara’s beautiful wisteria filled Lauryn’s senses and it comforted her. It vanquished the horrible dreams of war. And Lauryn opened her eyes. When she opened them and beheld the beauty of Connemara hovering above her, she was no longer frightened. She smiled. For the beauty of home, of Connemara was there before her, in the image, no…in the presence of Lauralynn.

  “Brant,” Lauryn whispered as she gazed at the beautiful spirit sitting on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair lovingly. “She’s here.”

  “I know,” Brant said from where he stood at the foot of her bed. “She couldn’t wait to meet you. I told her you were tired. But you know how ill-tempered the Irish are. Especially the women.” Lauralynn turned and playfully scowled at Brant before returning her attention to Lauryn.

  “You’re so beautiful, she says,” Brant translated as Lauryn watched Laura’s eyes fill with moisture. Her lips moved in silence again and Brant added, “She says you put her in mind of Virginia.”

  Lauryn began to weep as Laura’s own tears fell from her haunting eyes. Her great aunt was so much more beautiful than she’d ever imagined. People never smiled in photographs in the past. It wasn’t considered proper. Therefore, Lauryn had never seen Lauralynn’s smile, and it was breathtaking. There was something else the old family photographs had never revealed—her hair! It was almost perfectly the color of fresh, summer-morning cream and hung in long, wavy ringlets, giving the ghostly vision the appearance of a fairy sprite. It was Lauryn’s own hair, only cream-colored instead of sifted cinnamon and nutmeg. All these years, Lauryn had wondered from whence she’d inherited her wild tresses. And here was the answer sitting next to her!

  Her eyes were brown, as brown as chocolate. They sparkled with a sadness that made Lauryn’s tears flow even more profusely. She was there! Laura! She could feel her, smell her, see her as surely as she could the Captain.

  “He loves you so much,” Lauryn blurted out suddenly. “He’s never given up. And I…I promise…”

  Lauralynn O’Halleran Masterson put one dainty index finger to her lips and smiled, nodding. Then she took Lauryn’s face in her hands and kissed her cheeks sweetly. And somehow, even for her silence, Lauryn understood. There would be time to discuss it all. Time for questions and searching. But Lauralynn had wanted to meet her grand-niece. Th
at was what she’d come for this time. Somehow, Lauryn understood that. And with one more gentle kiss placed on Lauryn’s forehead, and a soft whisper of, “Lauryn,” she was gone, leaving only the lingering fragrance of wisteria.

  “You loved her instantly, didn’t you?” Brant asked in a whisper.

  “I did,” Lauryn admitted, wiping her tears from her cheeks.

  Brant smiled, complete understanding evident in his expression. “I’ll leave you then. To get some rest so that…”

  “I can’t possibly sleep now, Brant!” Lauryn exclaimed fairly leaping from her bed and snatching the robe Aunt Felicity had left from a nearby chair. “Take me to the Captain’s trunk.”

  “Now?” Brant asked, standing before her in nothing but his trousers.

  “Well, of course. That’s what we came to do, isn’t it?”

  Brant smiled and nodded. “We did.”

  The attic of Brant’s family home wasn’t nearly as inviting, or as well kept as the attic at Connemara. Still, Lauryn found it somewhat charming in its own right, even though completely frigid. It was dark, except for the light of the lantern Brant brought with them and smelled of dust that had been settling for years.

  “It’s pretty creepy up here,” Brant mumbled, as he tossed aside an old quilt covering several trunks.

  “Are there spiders?” Lauryn ventured.

  “Of course.” Brant answered plainly. Lauryn scratched the back of her neck as it prickled with anticipation of the possibility of seeing an eight-legged nemesis at any given moment.

  “It’s right here,” Brant mumbled, setting the lantern on the floor next to where he hunkered. “Are you sure we should…”

  “Open it,” Lauryn demanded. She was curious cold, and impatient.

  “Bossy little thing when you’re tired, aren’t you?” Brant struggled with the trunk latch for a moment and then, as Lauryn’s eyes widened, he lifted the lid to reveal the ancient treasures within.

  Reverently, Lauryn knelt next to Brant and peered into the trunk. A man’s trunk was differently packed than a woman’s and no doubt the things he held valuable would be just as dissimilar.