by Ari McKay
“Pleasant enough, yes, thank you,” Miss McManus replied, showing dimples on each smooth cheek. “But I am quite happy to be home. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, and I hope to steal a march on the rest of the committee.”
Jules raised one eyebrow. “May I ask in what way?”
“For our harvest festival,” she replied. “I’m also on that committee, and I have had my fingers crossed that no one else has engaged your services yet.”
Jules had heard his students talking of the harvest festival, which was a big to-do in Mercy. “No one has spoken to me directly, though I gather the students are all very excited.”
“It’s a lot of fun, with a rodeo and pageant during the day, then the bonfire and dance in the evening. Plus the children running around, getting treats from everyone. But I wanted to add something extra this year. I would like to organize a poetry reading with autumn as the theme and perhaps musical accompaniment? Would you be interested in being our main reader?”
Jules couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips. “Miss McManus, you could not have requested anything that would please me more. I have a particular fondness for poetry and a collection of poetry books. Did you have suggested works, or would you like me to present you with a list of possibilities?”
Tabitha McManus returned his smile, seeming pleased with his response. “I would be very grateful for your suggestions, since no doubt you are far more widely read than I. The festival is in three weeks. Would a week from now be enough time to compile your list?”
“More than enough, I assure you,” Jules replied.
“Excellent! Then I won’t keep you from your freedom for another moment.” She held out her hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wingate. I do hope you are finding Mercy to your liking.”
Before Tabitha’s visit, Jules could not have found a single reason to stay in Mercy beyond Al’s presence, but perhaps he was being too narrow-minded. Carlos Hernandez living here didn’t have to mean Jules couldn’t find reasons to be happy. Mercy was hardly a tiny hamlet, and Carlos had a job on Bent Oak Ranch, which was well outside of town. Jules could avoid Carlos easily, and even if they were thrown together, perhaps Jules would grow a thicker skin where Carlos was concerned. After all, if Carlos was the same selfish man who’d hurt Jules ten years ago, he’d show his true colors soon enough or else lose interest. Jules was old enough to be tired of running. Carlos had been the reason he’d left one town, and Sally Emerson had driven him from Stafford. Jules was overdue to take a stand for what he wanted. If Carlos grew tired of not getting what he wanted, then he was free to move on.
So Jules took Tabitha McManus’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and smiled at the young woman with genuine warmth. “I am finding more reason to like it all the time, Miss McManus,” he said. “I think Mercy might be the kind of town I can call home.”
Chapter Five
CARLOS GLANCED around as he walked into the church, but he didn’t see either Miss McManus or Jules. Then again, he’d been so looking forward to the rehearsal that he’d left Bent Oak far too early, and even keeping Corazon to a leisurely pace hadn’t kept him from arriving well before his time.
He still wasn’t sure if Jules knew who was providing the musical accompaniment to the reading. He hoped so, but if not, then perhaps catching Jules off guard would work in Carlos’s favor. Jules wouldn’t have had time to enforce his walls and brace himself for the encounter.
Carlos walked up the aisle and took a seat in the front pew, then placed his guitar case on the floor at his feet. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for someone else to arrive. Tabitha and Jules entered together, talking quietly.
Miss McManus smiled when she saw Carlos and hurried over to offer her hand. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, then turned to Jules. “I understand the two of you know one another already. Sometimes the world does seem very small, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does.” Jules nodded to Carlos, his expression neutral, but he didn’t seem surprised by Carlos’s presence. Apparently Miss McManus had informed Jules of Carlos’s participation, and Jules hadn’t backed down from his agreement.
Carlos rose to his feet and took Miss McManus’s hand. “I hope we may combine our talents to your satisfaction,” he said, slanting a warm smile at Jules.
“I’m certain you will. I was so impressed with your playing at Jeanie’s wedding, Mr. Hernandez. I just knew you’d be perfect to back up the reading.” Tabitha released his hand and gestured to Jules. “Mr. Wingate, why don’t you read one of your selections, so Mr. Hernandez can get an idea of appropriate accompaniment?”
“Certainly.” Jules carried his books to the lectern, then reached into his pocket and removed a pair of spectacles, which he donned before opening the first book. “I thought to begin with Elizabeth Barrett Browning.” He glanced at Carlos, then recited a poem in the beautiful, measured tones Carlos remembered quite well.
“Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them—
The summer flowers depart—
Sit still—as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.”
Jules continued the poem, imbuing each line with measured beauty, and as he reached the end, he glanced quickly in Carlos’s direction before looking away again.
“Come autumn’s scathe—come winter’s cold—
Come change—and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.”
Listening to Jules reminded Carlos of all the times he had rested his head in Jules’s lap, soothed by the sound of Jules’s voice and the stroking of Jules’s fingers through his hair. He had always loved hearing Jules read aloud, and this time was no exception. Belatedly, he remembered he was supposed to be accompanying Jules, and he bent to open his guitar case.
“Do you have a preference for the music?” he asked as he tuned his guitar.
Jules shook his head, not looking up from his books. “Miss McManus?”
She smiled, obviously pleased with Jules’s reading. “The poem is a little sad and yet hopeful, don’t you think? Perhaps something soft and wistful? It doesn’t have to be a formal melody or song. Maybe something to enhance the mood of each poem.” She paused, her brow furrowed in thought. “I remember a piece you played with Matthew once when I was a little girl. A Spanish piece that was about Andalusia, I think?”
“Ah, yes, I remember the one you mean.” Carlos looked at Jules. “If you would read it again, Jules?”
Jules gave a terse nod and read the poem again. Carlos played an improvisation on the song, slowing it down and making it richer and more melancholy, matching the notes and rhythm to the cadence of Jules’s voice. When the poem ended, he let the song trail off as well.
“Is that to your liking?” he asked Miss McManus.
The expression on the young woman’s face was enraptured, and she looked between Carlos and Jules as though awed. “That was beautiful,” she said, her tone reverent. “It is everything I could have hoped it would be!”
Jules was also looking at Carlos, his blue eyes dark, a slight flush rising in his cheeks before he glanced away.
“I hope the people of Mercy respond to our performance as enthusiastically as you do,” Carlos said lightly, although he wondered if Jules was remembering the times Carlos had played for him alone. “How many poems will you read, Jules?”
“I have at least four that meet your request, Miss McManus,” Jules replied. “A Shelley, a Whitman, and a Keats in addition to this one. Those are all about autumn. There are others….” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t certain if you might find anything for All Hallows’ Eve appropriate? Perhaps something from Poe?”
Carlos played a few haunting chords, a low and spooky lament, then looked at Miss McMan
us. “I can provide an accompaniment to that as well.”
“Oh, that would be lovely!” She clapped her hands, delighted as a little girl.
Jules looked down at his books for a moment before meeting Carlos’s gaze. “‘Annabel Lee’?” he asked softly. A wistful expression crossed his face, as though he remembered the times he’d quoted the poem for Carlos so many years ago.
Carlos remembered the poem quite well, mostly because his younger self had been incredulous over the narrator’s deep love for Annabel Lee. He hadn’t thought such depth of feeling was possible then, but now he understood the narrator’s grieving all too well.
“If that is the one you wish to read, I believe I can set the proper mood with music,” he replied.
Jules began the poem, not bothering to open a book for reference. His tone readily conveyed the sad yearning of the words, the deep and abiding loss that echoed through each measured verse.
By the time he reached the last stanza, Jules’s voice was infused with pain.
“For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams,
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee—
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes,
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee—
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side,
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.”
Carlos let his music match Jules’s voice, the mournful notes echoing the pain—his pain over hurting and betraying Jules. He tried to convey his grief and regret through the music, but he wasn’t sure Jules would realize it was for him rather than for the poem. When it was over, Carlos couldn’t look away from Jules, and his heart pounded wildly at the thought of being reunited with the only man it wanted to belong to. He knew now what he must do, and he was determined to see it through.
Tabitha McManus’s blue eyes shimmered with tears, her hands clasped together against her bosom. “That was beyond beautiful. From both of you.” She pulled out a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes.
“Thank you.” Jules’s voice was subdued, and he cleared his throat. “That is all I had, Miss McManus. If you believe it will be sufficient?”
“I think the two of you will be the hit of the festival,” she said, rising to her feet as Jules stepped away from the lectern. She rested her hand on Jules’s arm. “I suppose you read ‘Annabel Lee’ so beautifully because of your own loss.”
Jules looked taken aback, his gaze cutting to Carlos before quickly returning to Miss McManus.
“No, no, I understand, forgive me for bringing it up,” she said quickly. “I was told your wife died several years ago, but it’s obvious you miss her still.”
“Yes, I do,” Jules replied, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Fortunately, my stepson is very like his mother, so at least I still have that.”
“He is a fine young man,” Carlos said as he turned away to pack up his guitar. “I am glad you can take comfort in his presence.”
“So am I. I’d love to have the opportunity to meet him,” Miss McManus said.
“I’m certain Al would love to be introduced to you, ma’am,” Jules replied. “If that is all, I’m afraid I must take my leave of you. Lessons to plan, you know.”
“Of course. Thank you both so much.” Miss McManus nodded to them both, then headed back up the aisle to the front doors of the church.
Jules returned to the lectern and retrieved his books. “Good evening,” he said as he started to walk away.
“Wait, please.” Carlos stood up swiftly and approached Jules.
For a moment he thought Jules wasn’t going to stop, but then his steps halted, and he turned to face Carlos, his face once more a mask of neutrality. “Yes?”
“Our talents meshed well tonight,” Carlos said, moving closer until he could feel the warmth emanating from Jules’s body. “Some things never change, I think.”
Jules gaze roamed over Carlos’s face, as though searching for a motive behind Carlos’s words, and when he spoke, his voice was huskier than normal. “You’re right, some things never do.”
“But people do. Boys grow into men.” Carlos met and held Jules’s gaze, and he brushed his fingers across the back of Jules’s hand. “Men take responsibility for the wrongs they have committed. I broke your heart and shattered your trust, and I am sorry. If you need to hit me, hit me. If you need to shout at me, shout. If you wish to see me on my knees while I apologize again, I will kneel. I will do whatever I must to make amends.”
Jules pulled his hand away as though the touch had burned him. “There was a time when I wanted to hit you. A time when I might even have taken you back, if you’d gotten down on your knees to apologize. For years, I’d catch sight of tall men with black hair, and my heart would stop as I wondered if you’d decided you wanted me back. I suppose you’re trying to assuage a guilty conscience.” He studied Carlos intently. “I want to make a life in Mercy and to stop running from what other people have done to me, so I suppose I cannot berate you for immaturity if I hold on to anger over something that happened a long time ago. If you seek my forgiveness, then you may have it. I want to live in peace.”
“I am grateful for your forgiveness, but I doubt there will be any peace for either of us as long as we are apart,” Carlos said. “I have not known true happiness since I was foolish enough to leave you.”
Jules’s lips twisted, and he looked away. “Some lessons are only learned through pain and loss. I learned mine, and I have no desire to repeat the experience.”
“Even if I swear to be true to you for the rest of my days?” Carlos asked softly. He ached to gather Jules in his arms and try to ease Jules’s pain, but that would likely make Jules bolt. As with skittish horses, Carlos needed to avoid doing anything that might frighten Jules. “I never want you to feel pain because of me again.”
“I don’t intend to feel pain again because of you,” Jules replied. His breathing had sped up, and Carlos had no doubt Jules’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Why would I believe anything you swore to me, Carlos? You were faithless to me once, so I have no reason to believe you wouldn’t be again.”
“I was faithless to you then because I was a selfish boy,” Carlos said, stroking Jules’s cheek lightly with his forefinger. “I did not treasure your heart as I should have. I made no promises to you then, but I promise to be faithful to you alone now because you are the only man I want.”
Jules stared at him as though mesmerized, and he almost seemed to lean into Carlos’s touch, his blue eyes dark with something that wasn’t pain. “Yes, you were,” he murmured. “A beautiful, selfish boy, and I should have known better than to give my heart to you. I won’t do that again. I can’t. I’m an old man now, Carlos. You cost me everything, and I can’t pay that price again. I’m tired of running.”
“You are not an old man,” Carlos said, frowning to hear Jules speak of himself that way. He cupped Jules’s cheek in his palm and savored the soft warmth of Jules’s skin against his, the feel stoking his desire for more. “You are still handsome and desirable.”
He felt Jules tremble and then take a deep breath, apparently coming to his senses. He stepped back from Carlos, dropping his gaze. “I am old and tired, and I just want peace in my life, don’t you understand that? You wooed me once with pretty words, made me feel like the only man you wanted, and it was a lie. You were a lie. Maybe you’ve changed, but maybe you haven’t. I can’t take the risk. I have Al, and responsibilities to him and to Mercy. And to myself. A few fleeting nights of bliss aren’t worth what they would cost me to find if you really mean what you say.”
Carlos lowered his hand and remained where he was. Jules seemed to have reached his limit for one night, and pushing harder wouldn’t help Carlos prove he could be trusted—just the opposite.
“Mercy is your home now, as it is mine,” he said. “We have time for me
to prove I mean it, and I will take that time because I want far more than a few nights of bliss with you. I want a lifetime.”
Jules’s gaze flew back up to his face. “Part of me wishes you really meant that,” he replied, then shook his head, drawing himself up straight as though preparing himself for battle. “We have little reason to see one another, and I don’t want people to have any reason to start talking about us. It’s not just my reputation this time, but my stepson’s. I love Al more than anything in this world, and I won’t stand for him being subjected to gossip. Just let the past go, Carlos, and we’ll both move on.”
Carlos returned to the pew and picked up his guitar case, and when he turned back to Jules, he was resolute in what he intended to do.
“I will let the past go, but I will not let you go,” he said. “Nor will I do anything to jeopardize you or Al and your standing in Mercy. I will keep you safe this time. But I believe we have said enough for now. Think on what I have said, and we will speak again soon.”
“I don’t think there’s anything else to say,” Jules countered. He nodded to Carlos. “Goodbye.” With that, he turned and headed once more for the doors, walking quickly as though afraid Carlos might stop him again.
But Carlos watched him walk away and wished he could go with Jules. But there was no quick and easy fix for the damage he had inflicted. Carlos would have to woo Jules slowly, but he would do whatever he needed to in order to win back Jules’s trust—and his heart.
Chapter Six
THE DAY of the Mercy Harvest Festival finally arrived, and despite his inner turmoil at the thought of having to face Carlos again, Jules found himself looking forward to the occasion. School had been dismissed early to allow the students to help their parents with preparations. The children were excited, laughing and chattering about the planned activities, which included games, a hayride, special treats for everyone, and a huge potluck dinner. Afterward would be Jules’s recitations, then singing and dancing, and the night would culminate with the traditional bonfire in the schoolyard. Jules got caught up in the high spirits of his pupils, pleased to know he would help make the evening fun for everyone.