Lily gave him a shrug and a weak smile. “She’d never seen a real snowfall before, Drayton.” She returned her attention to the window. “I saw to it that she dressed warmly enough, but she’s been out a little longer than I expected. Almost two hours now.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “Perhaps you ought to go after her...to make certain she’s all right.”
“Send Bessie after her,” he said tersely, turning away from the window and making his way to the fire again. “Oh, come, Drayton. You have your coat and hat right there. The least you can do is go after her.’’ She glared at him, the impatience flaring in her blue eyes until the stubborn set of his mouth yielded.
He let out his breath, scowling darkly as he drew on his coat again. “I’ll go.”
Ambrosia’s footprints were barely visible in the snow now, since it was still falling so heavily and winds were blowing drifts in every direction. Drayton followed the almost indiscernible path into the woods, his scowl darkening as he moved ever further away from the house. He stopped for a moment when he first heard her voice. She was singing aloud a silly childish song, her voice mingling with the howling of the wind through the trees. His scowl faded as he headed toward the sound and came upon a clearing where she was working industriously, putting the finishing touches on a snowman that was nearly as tall as she. For a time he watched her, thinking how much like a young girl she still was, thinking how like her Mandy would be someday.
All at once Ambrosia whirled about, her face flushed with the cold, her eyes wide with fear. Her frightened expression faded as she recognized him, and her eyes softened as she studied his face, the weathered, darkened skin, the dark blue eyes. It had been a long time since she’d seen those eyes touched with gentleness, touched with anything besides cold indifference. And she suddenly realized just how much she wanted to see the warmth there.
“Welcome home,” she whispered slowly. She took a step toward him and started to smile. But suddenly his eyes changed, growing hard and cold again, warning her to keep her distance. She stopped short and the smile in her eyes died. There was bitterness and anger between them. She had put them there long ago.
He said nothing to her, but his eyes flicked over the lopsided snowman she had built and her eyes did the same. “I-I never built a snowman before,” she told him, feeling very childish to have done so now. She smiled a timid smile, dusting off her hands and facing Drayton, wishing with all her heart that he would return her smile. But his eyes only bore coolly into hers, causing her small smile to fade again, causing her to remember all the times in the past when he had smiled at her and she had turned away.
“Lily was worried about you. She sent me out to make certain you were all right.”
Ambrosia lowered her eyes, struggling with all her might against the painful tears that burned her eyes. “I was very worried about you,” he had told her once, a long time ago. She remembered that so clearly now, when the anger in his voice cut through her like a knife. Oh, God, why did she have to remember?
‘’You’d better go inside before you catch your death of cold.’’
Without a word Ambrosia hurried past him in the slippery, snow-covered path. She ran, shivering now, aware of the cold that stung her cheeks aware that her fingers were numb as well as her toes. The deep snow caught her feet with every step as she struggled toward the house. She almost stumbled several times, but she forced herself to run faster, faster, trying to forget, trying very hard not to feel anything. Her lungs ached as she ran, her legs cramped as she pushed them on, her eyes blurred with tears. She was not aware of how closely he followed her until she fell. Then suddenly his arms were about her, drawing her to her feet in a single, sharp movement, against his chest. She let out a tiny cry as their eyes locked, as a hot awareness flooded her, as her blood began to pound. She had forgotten how strong he was, for gotten what it was like to be held in his arms. His eyes held hers for a long, poignant moment, reminding her of everything that had been between them, of the single passionate kiss they had shared at Heritage, of the fullness of their wedding night in Charleston...And all at once she knew. She loved him. With all her being she loved him and wanted him. And more than anything else she longed for him to share her need. She searched his face, waiting for his kiss, waiting and knowing that for the first time, she would joyfully kiss him in return.
But instead his eyes went cold and hard and he released her so abruptly she nearly fell again. Ambrosia turned away quickly, her heart aching, tears of despair spilling over her cheeks. Without ever looking back, she ran the remainder of the distance to the house.
Christmas Day dawned bright and clear on the snow shrouded land. Ambrosia rose, smiling, to Mandy’s impatient cries and hurried to gather her into her arms. She sang to Mandy all the while she dressed her in a frilly red velvet and white lace gown, a totally impractical frock Lily had insisted on buying her for the occasion. Ambrosia even told Mandy the story of the first Christmas, though she knew the baby was far too small to understand. Before leaving the room, Ambrosia closed her eyes and held Mandy tightly, remembering all that had happened in a single year. Last Christmas she had been alone, seriously ill and penniless, in the care of three Christian ladies who had taken her-off the streets. She could not have imagined then that she carried a child, a daughter she would love so deeply. She could not have imagined this house or feeling at home here, in this place so different from Heritage, so far away from Heritage. She could not have imagined feeling a kinship for someone like Lily, or feeling anything but hatred for any Yankee. She had been so blind, so bent on vengeance and destruction, and dear God, she had made so many mistakes! She blinked back a tear as Mandy squirmed in her arms. Today was Christmas. Today she must put the past behind her and believe in forgiveness. Just for today she would force herself to believe.
Ambrosia’s face broke into a wide smile as she carried Mandy downstairs and into the parlor. The baby’s huge blue eyes were full of wonder, and her tiny finger pointed excitedly at the perfect fir tree, bedecked with glittering moons and stars, cut-paper snowflakes, tiny animals, and fragile glass angels. It seemed to reign over the spacious room. Ambrosia had helped Lily to decorate it the evening before, and Drayton had joined them, smiling as he helped string popcorn and berries, laughing over tales Lily told of Christmases past, of his excitement as a boy. He had carefully avoided meeting Ambrosia’s eyes, but the frictions between them had been hidden well beneath a glow of holiday good cheer. If only that spirit could continue, thought Ambrosia. If only the peace would win out over the tension that remained, and the past could be forgotten from this moment on.
Christmas Day began with a late morning service at the church in the village. It was the first service Drayton had attended with his wife and aunt, and Ambrosia was very aware of the eyes that fixed on them as they took their seats. More than once during the service Ambrosia’s eyes strayed to her husband and softened at the sight of the baby who slept so peacefully against his broad shoulder. Drayton belonged here, in this church, at her side, with Mandy in his arms. If only he would come home to stay! If only he would not avoid her eyes or keep such a distance between them!
Though it was far too cold and windy to do extended socializing outside the church that morning, it seemed that just about everyone made it a point to greet Drayton and welcome him home, to make certain he knew his services were sorely missed, even after all these years. When asked about the future, Drayton left no question in anyone’s mind about his intention to remain in the city and pursue the business his father had left him. The matter was resolved; his medical practice was a thing of the past. Still, beneath his decisive words and manner, there was something of uncertainty, of regret in his eyes as he answered the questions over and over again. A part of him wanted more than anything to return to these people, to serve them as he had before. But the ghosts of the past would not allow him to do so, and so he carefully hid behind talk of his new business, his n
ew responsibilities.
When they returned to Elmwood, everyone enjoyed a magnificent feast of stuffed goose and a wide assortment of out-of-season fruits and vegetables. The meal ended with a scrumptious rum-drenched cake drizzled with thin white frosting. The remainder of the afternoon and evening was spent in the parlor opening gifts, laughingly watching Mandy try to devour every one of her new toys, singing carols, and toasting the season with wassail punch. From Drayton, Lily received a terribly frivolous pink bonnet along with a lovely ermine-lined cape and matching muff. From Ambrosia, she received a handstitched pillow as well as a miniature pen-and-ink drawing of Henry Collinsworth, copied from the library portrait. Lily stared in amazement at the gift, recognizing at once the time and effort that had gone into its making. Her eyes misted with grateful affection as Ambrosia came to embrace her. They shared a second brief embrace, and Ambrosia was smiling as she returned to her chair. But that smile faded quickly, and she held her breath as Drayton chose the gift she had wrapped for him and pulled at the shiny satin bow. The room fell silent as he tore at the paper, unwrapping the charcoal drawing of himself, holding a newborn Mandy in the crook of his arm. It was a special gift, a personal one. Ambrosia had worked on it for weeks, coming back to it again and again until every detail of his face, his hands were exactly as she remembered them that night.
For a long moment he stared at the picture, his face showing clearly that he had expected a token gift purchased with the money he had sent her through Lily weeks before. Instead he had received a gift that held meaning. In spite of himself the gesture touched his heart. And because it touched him, he was suddenly angry. She had destroyed far too much of his pride to make up for it with a simple gift. His eyes lifted slowly to meet hers, those green-gray eyes that pleaded with hopeful expectancy, the same eyes that taunted his dreams.
“Thank you,” he said curtly, setting the gift aside with a stack of many others. There was no warmth in his eyes as he spoke the words or as he set it with the rest of his gifts and quickly rose to get himself a cup of punch. He was telling Ambrosia that he wanted no part of it.
She swallowed a large lump in her throat. Lily rose and went to retrieve the picture and immediately let out a cry of awe. “Ambrosia, it’s lovely! Why, the likeness is startling! It’s-” Lily’s smile of delight vanished when she met Drayton’s eyes, and then Ambrosia’s.
Ambrosia left her chair and all but ran to the opposite side of the room, where she stood at the window, staring at the black night, blinking to hold back a flood of tears. She could not allow herself to cry now, she thought in panic. She could not! Even as she struggled to restrain her emotions, Lily was hobbling after her, coming to place an arm about her shoulders. The portrait of Drayton and Mandy had revealed everything to Lily. She knew now without a doubt that Ambrosia loved him and wanted more than anything to be forgiven. And she knew just as surely that Drayton’s rejection of the gift had been a refusal to forgive, a refusal born of pride. It would take time, Lily thought.
“You haven’t opened the rest of your gifts,” Lily prodded her quietly, hoping against hope that Drayton had purchased something lovely for Ambrosia, something that would at least give her hope enough to ease the pain. Ambrosia moved woodenly to do as Lily asked, though she could not bear to meet her eyes.
“Drayton,” Lily said gently, “please come and sit down. We haven’t finished with Christmas yet.”
Everyone took a seat again, but the excitement and joy of Christmas had gone now. The room was quiet and somber and grew more so when Ambrosia opened Drayton’s gift to her. She stared at the two leather-bound books in her hands, one on household management, the second on child rearing. The same books might have been purchased for Miss Wilcox or any servant as a token gift, a meaningless gift. In giving them to Ambrosia, Drayton’s meaning had been all too clear. She meant nothing to him and held no more importance in his life than a servant. She could not even lift her eyes when she forced a thank-you. She was merely playing out the polite charade for Lily’s sake, when she wanted more than anything to fling the books into the fire and run from the room.
All the gifts had been opened when Bessie flitted into the parlor bearing one last gift that she set on a surprised Ambrosia’s lap. “From Miss Lily,” she said with a grin and a curtsy. “She wanted to save it until last.” Bessie made to leave, then dropped another curtsy, her eyes shining with delight. ‘’And I thank you again for the marvelous box of chocolates, miss.”
Ambrosia’s eyes flew to Lily’s, but the older woman only nodded and smiled. “Well, go on. Open it.”
Ambrosia stared at it a moment longer, still struggling with the hurt she felt over Drayton’s gift, still trying very hard not to cry. But suddenly she sensed that this was a very special gift, and she began to tear at the package with the excitement of a child. As the paper fell away and she opened the box, she gasped and drew back in surprise. “Oh, Lily!” Her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh!”
“Well, what is it?” Drayton inquired, his curiosity duly aroused. He held Mandy on his lap and gestured with his cup of punch. “The rest of us can’t see if you leave it in the box.”
Ambrosia’s fingers were trembling as she lifted the deep green, grenadine gown from the box as if it were a fragile china figure. The bodice was tailored with a wide, rounded neckline trimmed in delicate light blue ruching, the skirt cut in a fashionably smooth, straight line. She stood and held it to her breast, admiring the lovely de tailed blue lace at the cuffs of long, full sleeves, and the same lace about the hem and waistline. “Oh, Lily! It’s it’s beautiful!”
“I hope it fits you, dear.”
“It will!” She was still smiling widely and her fingers were still testing the softness of the expensive fabric when her eyes met Drayton’s. The smile froze on her face. His mouth was drawn into a hard, thin line of resentment, his eyes hard and cold as ice. And suddenly she remembered that he had offered her a gift very similar to this one, a wedding gift. And she had thrown it back in his face. His eyes narrowed in indictment as he rose and lifted the baby to his shoulder, turning his back on her for a second time.
In despondent silence, Ambrosia bit her lip and care fully folded the dress away. Wearing such a gown would only put salt in his wounds, would only serve as a reminder to herself of everything she’d done to hurt him. She couldn’t bear the thought of living with those memories, with the shame and the guilt that were already tearing her apart. It was too late to change anything between them now, far too late to even hope for forgiveness.
Chapter 39
With the holidays past, Ambrosia found herself with more time on her hands than ever and more need to fill those hours, since the despair lurked constantly in the back of her mind. She began to accept Lily’s invitations to go visiting, and discovered that many of Lily’s “social calls” were simply a matter of spending time with the sick or the bedridden who lived in and around the village. She took them baskets of fruits and fresh-baked breads, offered an understanding ear to their complaints, and assured them that someone cared. Though Ambrosia couldn’t help her awkwardness at first and said little or nothing until she became comfortable visiting these people, she watched Lily carefully every moment, learning from her sensitivity, her encouraging words and manner, her patience with the loudest complainers. For the first time Ambrosia realized that Lily had made herself needed by seeking out needs in her community that were already there and quietly filling them. She never spoke of “doing charity,” or “giving of her time,” and yet it was far more that than “going visiting.” And Ambrosia, who saw the light in so many people’s eyes whenever Lily came to see them, was beginning to realize that she could be needed here too.
The Sprindle sisters arrived at Elmwood one afternoon in early February, their first visit since the December snow. Isabel and Victoria Sprindle were unmarried ladies, both plump, homely, pleasant women with highpitched voices and flighty mannerism
s. With little else to occupy their time, the Sprindles made it their business to know everything that went on in the city and out, though they were the first to say that nothing of real importance ever happened outside of New York. Their visits to Lily’s house were important to their social calendars for one reason. They had acquired from their dear departed father a taste for the most unfeminine card game of allpoker-and seldom had an opportunity to play. It was their one and only vice, Victoria always liked to say, discounting the brandy or sherry Lily always insisted they have to warm them (in the winter) or refresh them (in the summer) after their long ride from the city. Making the visits even more attractive was the fact that Lily had far more interest in conversation than in card playing and so habitually lost to one or the other of the sisters. The combination was irresistible to the girls, who seldom missed a Wednesday during decent weather and were anxious to resume their games once the roads were cleared of winter snow.
Ambrosia managed to appear calm and collected during her first meeting with the Sprindles, even as she fielded dozens of personal questions about her background and how she had met her husband. The two older women stared quite pointedly at Ambrosia’s black dress as she poured them tea, memorizing every detail of her clothing, her speech, her manner. Lily noticed the Sprindles’ preoccupation and wondered again why Ambrosia had never worn the green dress that had been her Christmas gift.
The afternoon progressed smoothly enough, with the Sprindles becoming quieter and less inquisitive as Ambrosia won hand after hand of cards. Isabel, who was definitely serious about her game now, even declined Lily’s offer of another brandy, something she’d never done before. When the Sprindles took their leave, having lost every dime of their pocket change to the young woman in black, their farewells were stiff and begrudging. Lily could hardly hold back her grin until the two of them were out of sight. Ambrosia watched in amazement as she collapsed on the settee in a fit of laughter. “Oh, Ambrosia! You were wonderful!”
Ambrosia Page 39