Gettin’ Merry

by CATHY L. CLAMP; FRANCIS RAY; BEVERLY JENKINS; MONICA JACKSON; GERI GUILLAUME

  Her attention was then caught by a beautiful copper-framed mirror hanging on the foyer wall and the startling sight of the bleached-out skull of some type of animal with long curving horns hanging on the wall above it. She peered at the head this way and that and supposed it could be a cow, but she wasn’t certain. She was certain that she’d never seen anything quite as exotic displayed in a home before. Did all Texans decorate their homes this way? Since she had no way of answering that, either, she turned away from the skull and walked over to peek into the other rooms. One was a sparsely furnished parlor. Inside, the turned-down wicks of the lamps barely illuminated the two upholstered chairs and the settee, but the roaring fireplace burned brightly with a beckoning light of its own.

  The other room was the dining room, where stood a table set for two, complete with snow-white tablecloth, polished tableware, matching china, and gleaming crystal goblets. The sight took her breath away. Centering the table were two ivory candlesticks standing tall in crystal holders. Lydia thought the display simply beautiful. When she heard Gray enter behind her, she turned and said to him, “The table’s very lovely, Gray.”

  “But not half as lovely as you, my lady,” he wanted to say. Instead, he replied, “I’ll relay your compliments to Marie, my housekeeper. She’s the one responsible. Let me have your cape.”

  Lydia undid the frogs at the collar, then slid the garment from her shoulders. Gray took the cape from her hand and his eyes lingered on the cameo hanging against her skin. It was as beautiful as she, and Gray found the sight of her so arousing, he had to force himself not to move closer, because in reality he wished to slowly brush his lips against her throat and inhale the scent of her perfume. The carved ivory keepsake had been his gift to her for her fifteenth birthday. That she still had it and wore it tonight made it even harder for him to remain where he was. Reminding himself once again of tonight’s innocent purpose, he took her wrap over to the hooks by the door and hung it there.

  Lydia could feel the desire stirring the air as well. One of the other reasons Burton Shaw had broken off their engagement was because she hadn’t been moved by his kisses. He’d called her an iceberg. She certainly didn’t feel cold with Gray.

  When Gray removed his coat, Lydia saw his black-vested suit for the first time. It fit his tall frame well and she knew there wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be moved by such a glorious man. As if he’d sensed her thoughts, he turned, and their eyes met. Both stilled as thoughts mingled and memories surfaced, bringing back stolen kisses, humid touches, and the newly awakened senses of adolescent love.

  Gray surveyed this grown-up Lydia and thought she’d come back home as polished as a jewel. He wondered how far she would throw him if he suggested making love. “Marie left us warm cider in the kitchen. Would you like some?”

  “I would. Thank you.”

  “Go on into the parlor; it’s probably warmest in there. Let me stoke up the fire in here and then I’ll bring your cider.”

  Lydia walked slowly into the small parlor. The blazing fire in the grate drew her to walk over and warm her hands against its heat. She tried not to think about where this evening might lead, but even a spinster of thirty-one could feel the currents rising. She moved her mind away from that and took a seat on the large overstuffed sofa that was angled before the fire. Lydia’s virginal urges wouldn’t let her rest, however. What would it be like to be kissed by him again? Would they be different now that she and Gray were grown? Her last chance at marriage was gone now that Burton had backed out of her life. Lydia was neither young nor able to bear children, qualities most men placed great value upon. That in mind, she stood very little chance of ever feeling the loving sweep of a man’s hand or learning the mysteries of the marriage bed. She would go to her grave never having heard a man whisper to her in the dark or whisper to him in return. Lydia was sure society would be scandalized by the directions her thoughts were taking—headmistresses weren’t supposed to dwell upon such matters—but this homecoming was making her look at many things hiding deep in her soul.

  Gray returned a few moments later carrying two mugs of cider. She took one. He kept the other, asking, “Are you comfortable?”

  She sipped delicately and nodded. The cider was warm and good. “Yes, I am.”

  She tried not to acknowledge how nervous she’d suddenly become and chalked it up to her scandalous musing of a few moments ago, but Gray’s presence certainly wasn’t helping. He was seated in a chair opposite her, and his dark eyes seemed to blaze as vividly as the coals. What she read in them made her senses flare all the more. “This is a very nice house,” she said in an effort to move her thoughts to calmer ground.

  “Thank you.” He let her take another sip before asking, “Remember the creek where we used to fish?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile.

  “That’s where this house is.”

  She met his eyes. “Really? I guess it’s been so long since I’ve been home and with it being dark, I didn’t realize where we were.” She hadn’t thought about the creek in years. They’d had some wonderful times there. “Remember that old boot I caught?”

  He chuckled. “I do. Took us three-quarters of an hour to land the thing.”

  “It was pulling on the fishing line so hard, I knew it had to be a whale.”

  They laughed, the first one they’d shared in a very long time. They seemed to realize that, and a silence descended upon the room.

  A now-serious Gray looked her way, still unable to believe she was truly, physically here. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  Feeling her barriers melting fast, she replied, “I do. I was beating the tar out of Hamilton Green for stuffing my brand-new mittens into Mr. Tart’s inkwell at school. You called yourself coming to my rescue.”

  Gray remembered the incident, too, because he’d fallen in love with her the moment he saw her. “Good thing I did. Otherwise, Ham might not have lived to grow up to become my best friend.”

  The memory filled her heart. “How is Ham?”

  “Doing fine. He and Bert live up in Muskegon. Five kids, last count.”

  “My goodness. So many?”

  “Well, remember, Bertrice has seven brothers and sisters. She’s accustomed to a house full of younguns.”

  Bertrice Sullivan had been Lydia’s best friend. Hamilton Green had been Gray’s. Having to leave Bert behind when Lydia left town had hurt Lydia as much as it had to leave Gray.

  Gray sensed her change in mood. “Didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  She told him truthfully, “I’m not sad. Sometimes your mind takes you places you can’t control, that’s all.”

  They both sipped cider in the silence; then Gray asked, “Are you ready to eat?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  Gray stood and gestured her to walk ahead of him. They entered the now-cozy dining room and he helped her with her chair. Standing behind her, Gray had to fight off the urge to place a soft kiss on the back of her bare neck. Taking a deep calming breath, he stepped away and took his seat across the table from her.

  “I forgot something,” he said, and withdrew from his pocket a box of matches. After he lit the tall candles, the soft glow added even more intimacy to the room. “How’s that?” he asked as he sat down again.

  She gazed at him through the shimmering points of the twin flames. “Very nice.” And it was; everything was nice: from the setting, to the company, to how she felt inside.

  He raised his cider to her in toast. “To old friends.”

  Lydia followed his lead and saluted him in response. “To old friends.”

  After taking another sip, she set her drink down very aware that he was watching her every move.

  Gray’s past knowledge of Lydia’s moods and mannerisms made him say softly, “There’s nothing to be nervous about, you know.”

  “I know. It’s just that we’re not adolescents anymore, Gray.”

  He ran his eyes over the way she looked in t
hat gorgeous dress, then said to her, “No, we aren’t, so how about we let the evening bring what it brings, OK? I won’t make any demands; I promise. Lord knows I’d like to, but that isn’t why we’re here.”

  She met his eyes and wondered if he felt the heat rising in the room, too.

  He did.

  “OK,” she said in reply.

  “How about passing me your plate and we’ll start on Marie’s feast.”

  They ate the meal languidly, enjoying the plump roasted pheasant and its well-seasoned stuffing, along with the squash, cranberry relish, and bread. They talked of old times, old friends, and the events that had taken place in their lives while they’d been apart.

  “What made you want to teach?”

  “I have to start from the beginning.”

  “OK.”

  “Well, when I went to Chicago to stay with my aunt, she was working as the school’s cook at the time, and she got me a job in the kitchen there as well. One day I came across one of the younger girls crying in the hallway. When I asked what was wrong, she told me that she couldn’t do some of the sums she’d been assigned in preparation for an upcoming examination, and none of the older girls would help her. So, I did.”

  “Good for you.” He toasted her with his water goblet. Gray had decided not to have wine this evening because her presence was the only intoxicant he needed.

  “Thank you. Well, word got around, and soon, the other girls were seeking me out for help, and when Mrs. Isaacs, the headmistress, found out what I’d been doing, she took me out of the kitchen and placed me in the classroom. A few months later, she sponsored me at Oberlin, and when I finished the Women’s Program, I came back to teach fulltime at her school.”

  “Is Mrs. Isaacs still teaching as well?”

  “No, she died a few years after my return from Oberlin. She had no other kin, so she willed her school to me.”

  “Is the place doing well?”

  “It is. I have thirty students. Some live on the property, but most are local children.”

  “Girls and boys?”

  “No, only girls.”

  He studied her. “Why no boys?”

  “Because boys can receive an education anywhere. Many young ladies can’t.”

  “I see. Do your girls know what a hellion you were growing up?”

  She grinned. “No, and I forbid you to tell them.”

  “Forbid? That’s a pretty strong word for a girl who put tadpoles in old lady Webb’s lemonade.”

  Lydia exploded with laughter. “Oh my. I’d forgotten about that prank.” Old lady Webb taught Sunday school at the church. “I was so tired of her telling me I was going to hell.”

  He smiled. “Back then, all hellions went to hell.”

  “Well, it was embarrassing to hear her declare to the whole class every Sunday that I wasn’t going to heaven. She hurt my feelings, and that picnic gave me the perfect opportunity to pay her back.”

  He remembered. “I remember you couldn’t sit for a week after your mother learned what you’d done.” Then he added, “Come to think about it, you were in trouble a lot back then.”

  She cut him a look of mock warning. “That’s not the point.”

  “Well, I still think someone should warn the parents of your students that you weren’t as pristine then as you seem now.”

  “Do I seem pristine to you?”

  “Very.”

  Lydia wondered if he found her cold, too. “Pristine and cold—as, say, an iceberg might be?”

  Gray puzzled that over for a moment, then asked her quietly, “What are we talking about here, Lydia?”

  She waved him off. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  He peered at her through the candles. “Lydia?”

  “It’s nothing, Gray. Really.”

  “Talk to me, Lydie.”

  He’d spoken her nickname so softly, so familiarly, her walls tumbled. She took a moment to frame what she wanted to say, then began, “All right. I was engaged to a man named Burton Shaw, but this past summer he broke things off.”

  So, there had been a man in her life. Gray admitted not liking knowing that. “Go on.”

  Lydia sensed his displeasure, but rather than ask what right he had to be upset by her confession and start a row, she carried on with her story. “Burton decided he couldn’t marry me for a number of reasons, one being I can’t have children.” She looked up into his eyes and let him see the pain of that.

  Gray’s heart broke. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her tight, and tell her it didn’t matter. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded, appreciating his caring and concern. She smiled a bit. “My students make up for it in many ways, but I did want children of my own.”

  “I know.”

  In their adolescent world of love, Lydia and Gray, like many other young couples, had often fantasized about the gender of the children they would have, how many there would be, and what these mythical children might be named, but sometimes reality mows down fantasy like a fast-moving train, and that’s what the news from the doctors had done to Lydia.

  Gray was admittedly upset that Lydia had been treated so shabbily by her intended, mainly because it called to mind his own mistreatment of her. “You shouldn’t let his crying off sour you on getting married in the future. Granted, some men want heirs, but not all.”

  When Lydia and Gray were young, no matter how many scrapes, fights, or other dramatic escapades she found herself embroiled in, he had always been at her side, her champion, her warrior, her love. “It wasn’t his only reason.”

  “What was the other?” Gray asked. Apparently, Shaw had no clue as to how precious Lydia Cooper was; once, fifteen years ago, Gray had been just as ignorant.

  “He called me cold—an iceberg. When you described me as being ‘pristine,’ that made me think back on Burton.”

  “Why did he call you that?”

  Lydia raised her chin. “Because I never warmed to his kisses.”

  Gray cheered inside but was careful not to show it on his face. “Did you love him?”

  Again she told the truth: “No. I said yes to his suit because we had common interests and I thought he was a decent, upstanding man.” Only later did she learn that he was both arrogant and overbearing. In truth, she had been relieved when he called the whole thing off.

  Chapter 6

  After listening to her story, Gray decided that it was time for the man he had become to bare his soul and offer her the apology she was due. “I never apologized to you.”

  Emotions wafted through Lydia: sadness, loss, anger. She sensed her barriers going up again. “This isn’t necessary, Gray.”

  “Yes, is it. I did you a great wrong.”

  Lydia remembered the pledge she’d made to her mother about listening to what he might have to say. Lydia also took into account the softening of her own feelings toward him. “Then go ahead,” she said to him.

  He reached across the table and placed his large hands on top of hers. The warmth seemed to penetrate to her bones. He looked over into her eyes. “If there was a way for me to go back and undo what I did, I would. I hurt you very badly, and the guilt has been eating at me since the day you left. I wanted to cut out my heart when you left town.”

  She whispered plainly, “And I wanted to cut out mine when I heard you were marrying Anna Mae.” Anger was laced with that truth, an anger Lydia now wanted to lay to rest. “My mother’s letters said you weren’t married very long, though.”

  He drew away. “No, we weren’t.”

  Lydia’s hands felt cold.

  “I didn’t love her,” Gray confessed. “Anna Mae had it in her mind that once we became man and wife I would, but of course, I never did.” Gray knew that the reason he’d had no room in his heart for Anna Mae was because he’d already given it to Lydia. “The whole affair was a sham from beginning to end.”

  “It must have hurt to know she lost the babe, though.”

  His eyes went cold. “Ther
e was never any proof that she was carrying.”

  Lydia cocked her head. “Surely she would not have lied about something so serious.”

  He spoke bitterly: “I learned early on that Anna Mae and her relatives would lie about their names if they thought it would pay. Yes, Anna was thrown from her horse—there were witnesses—but the rest?” He shrugged. “She was taken to her mother’s house immediately after her spill, and the doctor was supposedly brought in. I wasn’t informed until hours later, and when I arrived, her mother told me Anna had miscarried.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His mood darkening, he replied, “Don’t be. It’s my fault, all of it.”

  Lydia couldn’t dispute that. His youthful lust had resulted in ramifications still echoing today, but her mother was right: he had suffered. Lydia could see it in his eyes. She could hear it in his voice, and she knew then that the breach between them had to be healed so they could meet on level ground once more. “Gray—”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t know what I was thinking inviting you to dinner. After the mess I made of everyone’s life, why am I even subjecting you to my company?”

  He got up from the table and went and stood in front of one of the room’s windows. He stared out at the darkness with his back to her.

  She replied quietly, “Oh, I don’t know. I’m having a fairly good time.”

  He went still, then turned. He searched her face.

  Lydia asked with amused eyes, “Did Marie make us any dessert?”

  He still hadn’t moved. “Dessert?” he asked as if he’d just heard her request.

  “Yes. I’m the one with the sweet tooth, remember?”

  He shook himself, then said, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “You wanted to talk. I want dessert.”

  He stared.

  She said earnestly, “Gray, my mother said something to me today that I’ve decided to take to heart. It was about living in the past and how it can keep you from relishing the blessings that might await you in the present. I hated your very name for many years. I hated Anna Mae. I hated myself in a way, because when a woman is young and has her heart broken, she ofttimes believes the fault was her own.”