The Visions of Ransom Lake

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Was it wonderful simply because he’s older than Jerome, do you think?” Yvonne asked boldly.

  “No. It’s because he’s a man with skills of affection and an unconscious desire to weaken a woman’s knees when she’s in his arms. He’s a man of hard work, of hidden pain. Ransom Lake is a man of passion. I only wish I were the object of his passion.”

  Yvonne was silent after Vaden’s answer.

  And then Vaden turned in her bed and said, “I can by no means settle for Jerome Clayton, Yvonne. It would be a sinful dishonesty to my soul and to Jerome. I will never be the same again. For, even now as I lay here in the dark, I long to be held by Ransom Lake, held in the power of his arms, and feel his kiss to my lips again. And my heart hurts for I know it is never to be again. Goodnight, Vonnie.”

  “Goodnight, sweet Vaden. You teach me more than you will ever know. And I’m ashamed to be so shallow a woman. When I listen to you, I’m ashamed to be me.”

  “Be glad you are you, Vonnie, for I would never wish this sort of torturous heartache on even my worst enemy.” Wiping soft tears on her pillow, Vaden was silent, knowing the conversation with her sister was ended. “Well, maybe my worst enemy,” she whispered to herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Vaden tried to breathe calmly as Ransom Lake stood at the far counter several days later. As she watched him studying the merchandise, she whispered, “He’s so handsome, Vonnie.” She paused, fascinated by watching him. “You know how in summer we used to pass Mrs. Kingston’s peach tree over on Delilah Avenue? Do you remember that?” Vaden asked. Yvonne nodded, and Vaden continued in a whisper, “Remember how sweet and fresh and moist those peaches were? How we’d look up at that tree and our mouths would just water and water for a taste of just one bite of a sweet, beautiful, delicious peach? That’s how I feel now. I watch Ransom Lake while he’s just standing there—doing nothing…nothing at all—and I have to swallow constantly because my mouth longs to have him kiss me again. So much worse than it ever longed for those peaches on a hot summer day, Yvonne.”

  “Shh!” Yvonne scolded in a whisper, hitting her sister squarely in the ribs with her elbow. “He’ll hear you! And quit staring. For pity’s sake, Vaden.”

  But she could not tear her gaze from the man. She was completely intrigued by him—every movement of his body, every gesture of his hand, every expression on his dream-borne face.

  “Are ya findin’ everything all right, Ransom?” Myra asked as she entered the store from the back room.

  “Mmm hmm,” he mumbled.

  “We’ve some new books that have just come in. If you’d like to take a look—”Myra began.

  “Thanks. But not today,” he rather shortly interrupted. Then, much to the horror of all three women present, he suddenly turned, glaring angrily in Vaden’s direction. “Confound it, girl,” he growled as he strode across the room toward her. “I can feel your eyes burning holes in the back of my head! Isn’t it enough ya stripped me of my beard, forced me to have my hair whacked off, trip me up everywhere I go?”

  “I…I’m sorry about those things,” Vaden apologized, utterly astonished and entirely unprepared for his outburst. “I’ve already told you that, Mr. Lake. Time and again.”

  “Maybe. But every dang time I come in here, you’re starin’ holes in me! Would ya like me to strip down buck naked so ya can have a real good, thorough look?” he nearly shouted.

  “Ransom!” Myra scolded.

  Vaden dropped her guilty gaze to the floor and blushed bitterly. “I’m sorry,” she apologized softly. “It’s just that…just that…”

  “I know, I know,” he sighed. “I’m the town odd man. You’re no different than anybody else I suppose.”

  “Yes, I am!” she spat at him suddenly as tears filled her bright eyes. “I am different! I’m different because I find you positively fascinating. You’re a puzzle to me. A soul in torture who…a mystery. I feel as if…as if…everyone else simply…” As his eyes widened, Vaden realized she’d revealed too much. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, wiping a tear from her cheek and fleeing to the other room.

  “She’s just young, Ransom,” she heard Myra remark, causing her to feel all the more humiliated.

  Running to her room and closing the door firmly behind her, she burst into unrestrained sobbing. Going to her nightstand, she removed her most beloved book of poetry from the drawer, opening it and removing the long lock of ebony hair she had hidden inside—the lock of Ransom Lake’s hair she’d found clinging to her skirt after she’d returned home from delivering Mr. Polowsky’s hair tonic. It must’ve been on Ransom Lake’s lap when she’d accidentally found herself sitting there. She’d known at once that it was his, for it was at the least eight inches long and the exact color of his hair. At the mere touch of it, her fingers began to tingle, and she wiped at her tears with her apron. Why was she so fatally drawn to Ransom Lake? It was so much more than the fact he was so lethally handsome. Her soul craved his company, his approval. Her body was experiencing a strange and longing loneliness she felt could only be appeased by being held safely in his powerful arms. She ached for his kiss again, to be the cause of a smile spreading across his face, to be able to smooth the perpetual frown from his brow, to ease the pain caused by whatever tormented him. Shaking her head as the tears increased, she whispered, “No! No!” She wouldn’t let her mind admit what her heart was telling it. She wouldn’t dwell on what she knew she was feeling for the strange and lonely man—the love, the need for his love.

  “Vaden?” Myra’s voice called from the other side of her door. “Vaden? Mr. Lake is asking to apologize to ya, dear. Do come out.”

  Looking about the room frantically, her attention was arrested by the window. By the time Myra grew impatient enough to open the door herself, the room was empty, the curtains billowing in the breeze that breathed through the room from the open window.

  Vaden let her feet carry her through the alley and out into the street. Because she was trying to hide her tears by hanging her head, she did not see her Aunt Myra and Ransom Lake standing on the front porch of the mercantile. She didn’t see her Aunt Myra point to her or hear Mr. Lake apologize to her aunt for upsetting her young niece.

  Once she had crossed the street to the road leading to her quiet spot and to Ransom Lake’s house, she hiked up her skirt and petticoats and began running down the familiar route, intent on reaching her tall maple and the brook.

  The mid-October air was cool and crisp, and Vaden wished she had taken a shawl with her for she was not sure she could comfortably endure the chill for very long without it. As she reached the massive pumpkin patch belonging to Vaughn Wimber, her pace slowed to a walk again, for there were a number of men harvesting the large orange orbs and placing them into the backs of several wagons. Vaden’s heart landed disappointedly in the pit of her stomach, for even though she had been looking forward to the pumpkin harvest, it seemed sad somehow to know the patch would soon be empty, the fruit having been severed from the withering vines, with only the leaves remaining to fade and die away. Quickly she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her apron as Mr. Wimber approached her.

  “Well, hey there, Miss Vaden! Ya comin’ on over to pick out your pumpkins today? Your Uncle Dan said he’d send ya over…but I thought he said this evenin’,” the pumpkin farmer called as he came to stand before her.

  “I-I thought I’d just come a bit early and look around,” Vaden stammered.

  “Well, go at it! If ya do find a few, just let me know and I’ll hold ’em back for ya, okay?”

  Vaden nodded and smiled. The man was pleasant enough, and Vaden could see the resemblance to his niece Violet Wimber in his smile and eyes. As she looked about, searching for a starting point, he added, “Now right over yonder there’s some big ones! Nice and orange…no green left nowhere. But be careful,” he cautioned, pointing in an eastern direction. “Somethin’ went on over there, and there’s five or six big ol’ boys that went rotten. Mice or somethin’,
I suspect. It’s pretty slick and messy, so watch your step.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wimber,” Vaden called as she started in the direction he pointed. Maybe it would lift her spirits a bit to wander through the pumpkin patch. Maybe it would take her mind off that man Ransom Lake. At least for a little while.

  Vaden lingered carefully while inspecting the pumpkins. Even for her damp mood, she was delighted, for never had she imagined there would be so many hiding hither and thither beneath the leaves. She rolled several over, inspecting their undersides and shapes, but had not yet come upon one she favored when she heard a voice that startled her.

  “Girl, if you ain’t the hardest child to track down.”

  Spinning around, she saw Ransom Lake approaching, haphazardly stepping over the large orange mounds that were between him and Vaden. She was entirely unnerved and hiked up her petticoats and skirt, preparing to bolt again.

  “Now, hold off there, miss,” he instructed, increasing the speed of his approach and shaking a warning index finger at her. “I just run all the way down here to apologize, so don’t ya go runnin’ off again.”

  Vaden dropped her skirt and stood waiting for him to reach her. Her heart was pounding frantically, and she doubted whether she could stay still to hear him out, for she was all the more humiliated he should find her wandering through a pumpkin patch after the embarrassing display back at the store.

  In another moment, he stood before her, his breath somewhat quickened from his pursuit of her. “Now listen here, girl,” he began. “I’m sorry I nipped at ya like I did. Ya don’t deserve that, and well I know it.” Again he held an index finger out, pointing at her as if he were scolding a child. “But it’s been awful rough on me lately the way people have suddenly started lookin’ at me like I was walkin’ around town stark naked. I’m not used to public attention, and it makes me uncomfortable. And to tell ya the full truth of it, girl…you’re the worst of the lot. Every time I come into the store, ya gawk at me like you’ve never seen me before. Not that it’s any worse today than it was before we had our moment the other night…but—”

  “I do not gawk at you, Mr. Lake,” Vaden interrupted to defend herself. Her cheeks were vermilion at his mentioning their intimacy.

  “Yes, ya do,” he corrected her. “But that doesn’t give me the right to bite your head off like I did. I’ve come out here to apologize to ya and—”

  As he took another step toward her, his proximity disturbed Vaden all the more, and she took one step back away from him. As she did, however, her foot met with the slick, rotting remains of a large pumpkin that had split open and poured its innards onto the soft ground. Her foot slipped, and she began to topple backward. She took another step backward to try to keep from falling. Instinctively, her flailing arms reached forward for support. The support her hands found was the front of Ransom Lake’s shirt. Vaden’s tight grasp on the shirt as the weight of her body began to fall unbalanced the man, and he too began to fall forward, unable to get a hold of his own footing because of the slick pumpkin remains beneath him.

  Vaden felt herself hit the ground hard, knowing instantly by the cold, moist sensation soaking her back that she had landed exactly in the space saturated with rotting, orange slime. The incredible weight of Ransom Lake’s body, coming down solidly on top of her own in the next instant, completely knocked the breath out of her. Matters worsened when Ransom Lake, instead of raising himself from her immediately, let his body remain on hers as he lifted his hands off the ground at her sides for a moment, inspecting the smelly muck covering his palms.

  “What kind of mess have ya pulled me into this time, girl?” he grumbled. His expression and voice only too clearly showed his exasperation, and Vaden, still struggling for breath, tried to push him to one side. “Now hold on there,” he instructed. “Let’s take a minute. I don’t want to end up face down in this…”

  His words were lost as Vaden managed to squirm from beneath him, his own body landing squarely in the slop that hers had lain in only moments before. Vaden sat up, feeling the back of her head and trying to pull the pumpkin seeds from her hair. Ransom Lake raised himself to his knees and inspected the stringy, seedy mess covering his entire front side.

  When his head slowly turned toward Vaden, she immediately began to defend herself, assuming he was about to scold her much more harshly than he had in the store. “This was not my fault. You frightened me,” she began in her own defense.

  “I frightened you?” he repeated. “How do ya figure that?” His voice was stern but lacking the intonation of fury she had expected.

  “You…I thought you were going to…” she stammered, unsure herself what she had expected.

  “Paddle your behind?” he finished. “Wash your mouth out with soap? Well then, ya weren’t listenin’ to what I was sayin’, were ya? I came out here to apologize to ya. Remember?”

  Vaden looked away from him for a moment, still picking seeds from her hair.

  “I followed ya out here to apologize, and ya end up pullin’ me into a…a…a puddle of rotten pumpkins!” He sighed, shook his head, and raised himself to his feet.

  Vaden continued to sit amid the muck, feeling it must be her penance for acting so cowardly back at the mercantile. She glanced up, completely startled when she heard a very odd, very unfamiliar sound erupt from Ransom Lake’s lungs.

  Vaden looked to see him standing before her, his shirt and trousers dripping with pumpkin mush, laughing boisterously, as if the situation were the first humorous thing he’d seen in his entire life. The pure joy of amusement evident in his gray eyes and smile was wonderful, and Vaden could not help but smile with him. He was all the more handsome when a relaxed, amused expression owned his face, even than he was with the nearly perpetual frown he usually wore.

  He bent over, laughing so hard he put his hands on his knees as he sighed to try to stop the laughter. “Look at you!” he gasped. “Just sittin’ there. Sittin’ there as if sittin’ in a mess of rotten squash was the most natural thing in the world. And look at me.” He laughed for a moment before he was able to get his breath again, and Vaden began to laugh with him, for the sound of his laughter was instantly contagious. Then, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling a long sigh, he wiped the moisture from his eyes and held a slimy orange covered hand out to her. “Come along, girl. We’ll run on down to the creek and rinse off a bit before ya go home.”

  Vaden was uncertain how to react. Ransom Lake, standing before her, his hand outstretched in an offering for her to take it? He wiggled his fingers and nodded, indicating she should take the hand offered her. So, tentatively, she reached up, placing her own hand in his. Immediately she was pulled with such a great strength that she nearly fell headlong into him again before she was stable on her own feet once more.

  “Here now,” he began, turning from her but still holding her hand as he led her through the pumpkin patch, “we’ll go out the other way here instead of back to the road. The creek is closer that way, and anyhow, we won’t have to go trampin’ through all the pumpkin pickers.”

  I’m holding hands with Ransom Lake, Vaden thought. And the thought, though perhaps a little dramatic, astounded her. His hand, one of the same that had held her, caressed her so perfectly, was warm and strong, and led her with confidence. It was a little disheartening when they reached the edge of the patch and he dropped her hand casually. A chuckle still rose in his throat every now and again as Vaden followed him in silence toward the brook. When they reached the cold, refreshing water, she gasped when he led her to exactly the spot that she favored. She watched as he hunkered down beside the stream beneath her maple and began vigorously rubbing his hands together in the water. Ransom Lake looked up at her, smiling, and Vaden felt as if she might faint at the pure splendor of his smile.

  “Go on,” he instructed, nodding his head toward the water. “Rinse that sticky stuff off.” Vaden knelt on the brook’s bank, not worried about the soil that might stain her skirt, for the backside was
already orange forever from the pumpkin.

  As she slipped her hands into the water, frigid with autumn, she looked to Ransom Lake when he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. Quickly she looked back to the water and began rubbing her hands together all the more furiously as out of the corner of her eye she saw his shirt land in a pile on the ground next to her.

  Chuckling, he offered, “Here’s your chance, Miss Vaden Valmont. A few of them curiosities that have been bouncin’ around in that head of yours are about to be satisfied.” Then he hunkered down next to her, picked up the shirt, and doused it with water. “First of all,” he began as he wrung the article of clothing out, “I tear the sleeves off my shirts ’cause they bother me—always getting’ caught on somethin’ while you’re workin’ if ya don’t roll them up. And if ya do roll them up, they’re always comin’ unrolled and givin’ ya irritation.” Still Vaden did not look at him, although she inwardly gasped at his knowing she had considered the reason for his sleevelessness for some time. “Next,” he continued as he took the wet shirt and used it to rinse the pumpkin mess from his chest and stomach, “I don’t wear flannels because they itch me. I always hated them, and now that I’m grown up, nobody can force me to wear them…so I don’t.”

  “That’s very interesting, Mr. Lake,” Vaden commented sarcastically. “But I have no idea why you think you need to explain to me the reason for—”

  “Next,” he interrupted, “and I’m not goin’ to show ya my underdrawers, Miss Vaden…’cause a man has to have some privacy…”