The Fragrance of Her Name

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Go ahead,” Brant whispered. “You first.”

  It struck Lauryn then how uncomfortable Brant was about the Captain. He hadn’t known the Captain like she had. To him, the Captain was a stranger.

  Reaching into the trunk, Lauryn blinked back the tears that welled into her eyes at the realization the Captain’s possessions, tangible items that he had owned, were at her fingertips. The first thing she removed was a set of men’s clothing, a suit. It was dark blue, woolen.

  “Probably his wedding clothes,” Brant mumbled. Lauryn nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tenderly laid the suit aside. She shivered, chilled by the cold, night air of Vermont.

  “Come here,” Brant demanded, sitting down on the floor, he pulled Lauryn into his lap and rubbed her arms for a moment to warm her.

  Lauryn smiled, much warmer in Brant’s protective grasp, and reached into the trunk again. A large knife, the handle engraved with the Captain’s name, was the next item she found herself studying.

  “It was a gift from his father,” Brant explained. “On his twelfth birthday. A hunting knife.”

  “Seems a little lethal for a boy of twelve,” Lauryn mused, trying to imagine Patrick in possession of such a knife in just a few years.

  There was a stack of photographs within, photographs of Lauralynn and of ancestors unknown to Lauryn, but familiar to Brant.

  “There’s Aunt Felicity.” Brant pointed to a young girl posing stiffly in one group photo in which Lauryn also recognized a younger, less matured Brandon Masterson.

  “She’s adorable!” Lauryn exclaimed in delight upon identifying Brant’s great-aunt as a girl of perhaps five or six, slathered in ringlets and lace.

  Brant chuckled. “She looks very much the same in a way. Doesn’t she?”

  “And I’m certain she was just as saucy.” Lauryn caressed the photograph, melancholy over the years that had passed between its creation and the time they now held it.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Brant mumbled.

  Setting aside the photographs, Lauryn retrieved other items from the trunk. An old bridle, a piece of cedar whittled into the shape of a pistol and a tiny box marked ‘Lauralynn’ which held several locks of wavy, cream-colored hair. Last, was the leather-bound book.

  “The diary!” Lauryn exclaimed in awe.

  “Journal,” Brant corrected.

  Lauryn looked over her shoulder and smiled up at him. “The journal,” she corrected.

  Her body began to tremble with the anticipation of secrets the book might contain. Would she and Brant find answers within? Would finding the answers they needed to reunite the Captain and Laura be that simple for them? As simple as cracking the spine of a book that had been at Brant’s fingertips for nearly his entire life?

  Immediately, Lauryn’s hopes were dashed as she carefully turned the pages, realizing that it was merely a ledger of Brand’s personal finances. Money earned, obligations paid. Yet, there were still interesting things to be noted.

  “Look at this,” Lauryn whispered. “It’s a notation about a purchase from a jeweler. ‘One gold wedding band with, and including, three stones: one diamond (1/2 carat), two rubies (1/4 carat each).’”

  “Lauryn’s wedding ring from Brand,” Brant mumbled. “It’s a legendary story in our family. He spent six months’ wages on it, or something like that.”

  Lauryn smiled and flipped through several more pages of the book. “And look at this,” she muttered. “After they were married…almost six months later. ‘$10 United States Currency…sent to Lauryn to give to C.’”

  “I’m sure he had to send her every cent he got,” Brant offered. “Confederate money was worthless by then and she was still in Franklin.”

  “I wonder what ‘C’ means?” Lauryn mused. Still, the book, as interesting and as priceless a treasure that it was, didn’t seem to hold any keys to the mystery of Laura’s disappearance.

  “That’s it,” Lauryn sighed as she leaned over and looked into the empty trunk to assure she’d removed everything.

  Brant sighed. “I guess I kidnapped you for nothing.” He leaned over, placing his hand in the bottom of the trunk and feeling around as if hoping to find some tiny clue. He sighed again, admitting their cause was lost—for the moment.

  “Let’s get back to bed,” he grumbled, carefully pushing Lauryn from his lap and standing. But, Lauryn wasn’t finished. These were the Captain’s things. His earthly life.

  “Would you…would you mind if I stayed a moment?” she asked. “Just to…just think on it all?”

  Brant rubbed his tired eyes. “Of course not.” And sensing she wanted to be alone asked, “Can you find your way back? Will you be careful on the stairs?”

  Lauryn smiled up at him, “Yes, Brant. Thank you.” He nodded and left her to her own thoughts. The moment he was gone, Lauryn burst into sobbing.

  However would they find Laura? There seemed no way. Brant and Lauryn had searched everywhere, taxed their brains until they were sore! And for what? For nothing! Nothing except frustration and something to keep them both from going on with life.

  Heartbroken, defeated and fatigued, Lauryn laid down on the dusty pile of quilts nearby and continued to sob. For a long time she cried. Cried for the Captain, for his lost beauty, and for Brant. Cried for want of owning his heart, freely.

  After a while, she began to feel a soothing warmth, a soft hand stroking her hair. She breathed in the fragrances of Connemara and home. She was not alone any longer. She could sense Laura at her side and even though she could feel her hair moving as the ghostly beauty comforted her, even though she could just barely discern the beloved sense of the wisteria of Connemara…Lauralynn did not fully reveal herself. She stayed a whisper away from Lauryn’s vision and this prompted the tormented girl that lay on the quilts to close her eyes. To dream of home and of Brant. Of his smile and embrace. Of his kiss and protective nature. And she slept then. Slept peacefully as one by one an unseen presence lovingly returned the Captain’s things to the confines of the trunk nearby.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brant pushed open the door to the attic. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet. Still, the first rays of its arrival were peeking through the dusty attic windows and allowed just enough light for Brant to see through the darkness of the dusty room.

  He had spent a fitful night. And for two very good reasons—the fact that he had the overwhelming feeling of having overlooked something important, and the fact that he couldn’t keep Lauryn out of his mind’s eye.

  She was distracting him, he knew, and this distraction was slowing their search. At the same time, he wanted the distraction. He wanted to concentrate on ways to make her cheeks burn with a delighted blush. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, talk to her about something besides the infernal problem before them.

  Yes, she was distracting him to a dangerous level. He’d lain awake for some time after leaving her in the attic, wondering what he should do. Should he cut himself off from her completely, except to discuss the Captain and Laura’s predicament? He’d almost convinced himself that he should. For he kept thinking of the expression on her face when he’d kissed her in the train, when he’d nearly ravished her under the dogwoods. The flash of her eyes, the pink in her beautiful cheeks.

  Lauryn loved him. He was certain of it. And yet, not certain. Surely not, he kept telling himself. But there were his own feelings to consider. The way he felt in her presence, the thoughts that traveled through his mind almost constantly. Those disturbing thoughts of wedding vows and spending six months of his own salary on some small, but very significant piece of jewelry the way Brandon Masterson had.

  But there was no freedom to feel. Not while Laura was in such misery. Not while she was lost. So he tried to bury his thoughts of Lauryn and weddings and babies. He tried to bury them, and he made up his mind about the distraction Lauryn proved to be. There must be some separation. He must keep himself from wanting her, from having her, from tasting her kisses. He had to put
her away from him until the damnable mess was worked out.

  And then it began to plague him again—intensely—the knowledge that there had to be something they’d missed. As he and Lauryn had been searching late into the night, he’d felt compelled, as he did now. They’d missed something. So intent was he on finding the “something” that he almost tripped and fell over Lauryn who lay sleeping on the pile of old quilts. At once, all of Brant’s compelling thoughts of searching out answers were gone. All his convictions at resisting her, gone. Lost to the overpowering scene before him.

  Visions of Aunt Felicity’s bedtime stories of forest fairies and sleeping beauties flashed through his mind. For there she was. Indeed, laying before him in peaceful slumber, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen! It was like catching a leprechaun or finding a pixie asleep in the woods. He stood for a long time looking at her. Studying the way her mass of wavy hair spread over the quilts on which she lay. The way her face, turned to one side, displayed the smooth soft surface of her neck. The way her hands lay, so relaxed, so lovely, one next to her face the other on her tummy.

  Brant hunkered down, enthralled with the opportunity to again watch her so unguarded. It was impossible to study her at such length while she was awake and looking at him, talking to him. It would seem odd to her, he was certain, had he stared at her this way during one of their conversations. In a whisper, he thanked the heavens for the gift of letting him have his sight restored if for this moment only. Beholding before him such a sweet and beautiful vision as this, he was overwhelmingly thankful that he could see.

  He let his hand feel the soft curls of her hair as they lay over the quilt. He could sense the corner of his mouth twitch as he gazed at her berry red lips, parted gently as she slept. Closing his eyes for a moment he tried to remind himself that she was his friend—a friend that had become far more than that, but that he had only in the past few hours resolved must become merely his friend again—a friend who was trapped in a mystery with him—trapped by the past. A girl who… but his heart had started to beat faster, the moisture in his mouth had increased until his sense of reason was all but gone. Gently, he slipped his hand beneath her head, grasping her carefully as he allowed himself to visually drink of her beauty—to taste the tender flesh of her neck with the softest of kisses. Closing his eyes he remembered the moment in Franklin when she’d allowed him to smell her, and he noted her neck tasted far more delicious than even she had smelled. He was reminded then of their picnic when finally, blessedly finally, he’d been able to kiss her, drink warm fascination from her lips.

  He’d meant to kiss her neck just once. To feel her skin beneath his lips and then leave her to her dreams, whatever or whomever they might be about. But she was like some strange potion causing a craving in him that he could hardly control, and he could not leave her. He let his mouth linger there, his lips pressed gently against her skin. And, he was fairly strong…resistant to his desires until, he felt her small hand at the back of his head, her fingers sliding up his neck and into his hair. Then, when she fisted her hand, his hair clutched tightly in it, his strength was lost and he collapsed beside her wrapping his own powerful hand in her silken tresses. Pulling her head backward he let his mouth travel to her throat, trailing kisses from the soft hollow if it, upward to her chin.

  As Brant’s hands went to her face, his thumbs tracing her lips as he continued to place tender kisses on her neck and throat, Lauryn was afraid to open her eyes. Surely she was still dreaming! Allowing herself to awaken might instantly vanquish the bliss she was feeling. But she could not help his name slipping from her lips.

  “Brant,” she whispered. His kiss immediately stopped. So it was that she opened her eyes to see him, frowning, intent on her. Suddenly she was ashamed. Ashamed of the passion she was feeling. Ashamed of the blush that must be apparent on her face, the intoxicated light that, no doubt, burned in her eyes. She looked away, turning her face from him. She heard him curse angrily under his breath as he stood, fairly yanking her to her feet. Clutching her hand tightly, he stomped toward the attic door, pulling her with him.

  Lauryn felt tears rising in her throat as she followed him down the stairs, outside and toward the orchards. He seemed to care nothing for the fact that she wore only a nightdress, a robe. Care nothing for the fact that the sun was beginning to break over the hills to the east and everyone in the house would be rising at any moment. And why did he seem so angry when only moments before he’d been showering her with affection? She was confused, somewhat frightened. And very, very chilly.

  Brant stopped abruptly beneath an ancient looking apple tree bursting with fragrant spring blossoms.

  “What, Brant? What is it?" she asked breathlessly.

  How much was a man supposed to endure? How strong was he expected to be? She was adorable! Smart, witty, comical, beautiful! Soft, sweet, delicious, fragrant! What man could keep himself from such a woman? How did other men resist pouring out their heartfelt confessions of love to a woman like this the way he had? Sincere or otherwise? Then he thought, They don't! They write poetry, kill brothers, fight wars, cut off their ears with love in their blood and hearts. He wanted her for himself. There! He’d admitted it. But he couldn’t tell her. Not now. Not Yet. For he feared that losing themselves in each other would keep them from freeing those tortured souls, and failure would somehow keep them from finding their own happiness. And so, he answered her question. As a breeze blew through the secluded orchard, showering pink and white blossom petals over them, he answered her.

  "We're friends, Lauryn," Brant mumbled as he tucked a wavy lock of cinnamon hair behind her ear and stepped toward her. Putting a hand gently to her throat he pushed her backward, indicating she should walk and thereby led her into further seclusion among the trees. The fire in his eyes told Laura of a tremendous passion lurking in him. Unreleased, barely controlled. And a heat that began in her stomach, spreading out to her bosom and limbs, filling her cheeks with a rosy blush, permeated her being. There was a plush bed of grass, covered in blossoms in this secret part of the orchards. A place completely surrounded by the trees. Their sweet perfume was so different from the wisteria of Franklin, so strong and intoxicating that Lauryn felt dizzy for a moment.

  Brant sat down on the grass, seeming indifferent to the heavy morning dew. Pulling Lauryn to sit next to him and leaning back, stretching out his legs and propping his body up on one elbow, he looked up at her, his eyes narrowed and on fire with mischief.

  “We're good friends,” his voice mumbled, provocatively. Lauryn watched mesmerized as he unbuttoned his collar button and two more below that. "We're very good friends, Lauryn," he mumbled, as he took her hand and coaxed her closer to him. Without pause she leaned forward looking down into his hypnotically handsome face.

  “We're very good friends…who kiss.” He reached up and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “And I intend to spend this sunrise kissing my very good friend.”

  Though the thought of his kisses was elating to Lauryn, his talk of friendship unsettled her somehow. There was something in his demeanor. A prophetic finality in his words. It frightened her.

  “Friends don't…” Lauryn began breathlessly. It was not what she had wanted to hear. Friends? For what she felt for him was so far and away beyond mere friendship. Though that was part of it, too. But there was more, for her. And yet, his words were almost more seducing than had he confessed a mad, incurable love for her.

  “"Friends do, Lauryn,” he mumbled. Lauryn's heart was hammering so brutally in her chest that it was actually painful…torn between anxiety and the joyful anticipation of receiving his kiss.

  Lauryn gasped as he reached up, slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face downward toward his own. The first touch of his lips to hers was soft, barely discernable, so teasing was it, yet so full of a promise. A promise of passion and more.

  “Are you cold, baby?” he whispered into her ear as he pressed his whiskery cheek to hers.<
br />
  “Yes,” she admitted as her hands clutched the front of his shirt.

  Brant pressed his forehead against Lauryn’s, reveling in the sensation of her nutmeg tresses cascading down around his face and shoulders. Silently he apologized to Laura. But she would understand. She’d waited fifty years. Surely, allowing himself a few more moments with such a beauty as this would not disappoint his spirit friend too much.

  Indeed, he expected Laura would more than understand. And then, he released his mind from its torment and all there was to him was the girl that would soon be in his arms. He’d suffered much, and he would allow one more moment of beauty, before denying it to himself until Laura was found.

  Wrapping her tightly in his arms Brant whispered, “I’ll keep you warm.” He kissed her forehead. Still Lauryn resisted giving herself to him. She was frightened. Frightened of something she couldn’t see. There was a determination about him. A determination to…to what? And yet, his arms were warm and inviting.

  Reaching up Brant took Lauryn’s face in his hands as he laid her down in the grass next to him. He watched, with delight as her hair fell in waves onto the green carpet woven by nature beneath them. Then he kissed her tenderly on the lips several times.

  Brant’s lips were warm, moist as his kiss lingered on just her upper lip for a time. So wildly sensational was the gesture that Lauryn’s entire body shivered involuntarily, breaking into goose bumps over every inch of flesh that held her together.

  Lauryn looked at him for several long moments seeing a deep regret burning with the passion in his eyes. Brant’s hand, lost in her hair, his mouth whispering her own name in her ear, caused her coherent thoughts to be lost in a cloud of enchanted bliss. And when her mouth met with his, her heart understood what he was telling her. The message was deeper than his words. His hand at her waist, his mouth met with her own, hot, moist, reviving like some magical nectar…therein was his meaning unspoken. Her heart knew it, at last! He loved her! Truly loved her! For the moments spent in the orchard that day, apple blossoms falling about them like soft fragrant rain whenever the breeze intruded on their privacy, she lived the dream of his perfect kiss…of knowing that, though he could not speak it yet….Brant did love her. She knew with each caress he offered, the way he touched her face as they kissed. Let his hands caress her arms, her waist, tug on her hair. Let her catch her breath now and then as he kissed her neck, cheek, forehead, hands, shoulders. And as the sun rose higher, as its brilliant beams warmed the day, Lauryn held him, kissed him, cried for him.