by Peggy Webb
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, triumphant, then walked toward him in her tilting, dignified gait
"Hello, Jenny. You look lovely this morning." She did. Her blouse was the same soft pink as her cheeks. "I hope you don't mind that I dropped by without calling."
"You don't have to call, Daniel. As you can see, I don't have a long line of friends waiting at my door." Her eyes sparkled with humor. "Come into the sitting room."
o0o
They went inside, and Daniel firmly closed the door behind them. But Gwendolyn wasn't deterred. In spite of his announced good intentions, she had to see for herself. She went right in behind them.
They were sitting together on the love seat. Too close, was her notion about it all. She plopped herself in a wing chair right across from them.
"Are you comfortable, Miss Phepps?" There was a mischievous spark in Daniel's eyes. Gwendolyn wasn't about to be won over by his easy charm.
"I'm always comfortable, Mr. Sullivan."
"You might want me to move your chair a little closer so you can see better."
"I can see everything I need to from right here, thank you very much."
With his eyes still sparkling, Daniel turned to Jenny. "When I was jogging this morning, I saw something in the window of Jernigan's that reminded me of you." He held out the silver box.
"You bought a gift for me?"
"Especially for you, Jenny."
"I love surprises."
They held the box between them, hands touching. It didn't take a Philadelphia lawyer to see how their hands lingered. Jenny fairly glowed. Any fool could see how she felt about Daniel Sullivan.
And Daniel...
He looked so fiercely protective that Gwendolyn was taken aback. Why, he looked as if he was set to go out and slay fire-breathing dragons for Jenny.
Maybe she'd misjudged him.
"It's so pretty, I don't want to open it."
"If you want to keep it wrapped, you can."
"Then I'd never know what was inside."
How they smiled at each other. Gwendolyn had seen smiles like that once... on the faces of Jake Townsend and Jenny's mother, Sarah Love.
Jenny's hands trembled on the ribbon, and Daniel steadied them with his own.
"Let me help."
"Yes ... please."
There was magic in the room, magic between the two on the love seat. Gwendolyn held her breath as they pulled back the silver paper.
"Oh ..." Jenny put one hand over her heart. "It's too pretty to touch."
What is it? Gwendolyn wanted to say. But she was afraid of breaking the spell.
Daniel reached into the box and took out the most exquisite silver carousel Gwendolyn had ever seen. Holding it gently with one large hand, he wound the spring and the sound of music filled the room.
"Our song," Jenny said.
"Yes. Our song." Daniel set the music box on the coffee table, then stood and bowed over Jenny's hand. "Shall we dance?"
They danced together as if they'd been born to do so, while strains of music filled the room -- "If I Loved You."
Gwendolyn got up quietly and left the room, shutting the door behind her. The sounds of music and laughter echoed faintly in the hall.
It almost made her believe in miracles. She left the hallway and went into the kitchen, humming.
o0o
Behind the closed door, with Jenny in his arms, Daniel felt ten feet tall. He'd given her a small trinket, and she'd given him unconditional adoration. He'd come out the winner.
The music box wound down, and they collapsed on the love seat, laughing.
"Oh, my, Daniel." She put her hand over her heart. "If I'm going to dance so much, I'll have to take up jogging to get into shape."
"I jog every morning. Do you want to jog with me?"
"I'm slow."
"I need to slow down."
"Oh ..." Her cheeks glowed with pleasure. "You really want me to jog with you?"
"Yes. I really do." It was the truth. "Everything I do is a solitary pursuit. I'll enjoy your company."
"Can we go early and see the sunrise?"
"Yes. It's my favorite time of day."
"Any time of day with you is my favorite, Daniel." Jenny touched his face.
Daniel's heart stood still. A friendship, he'd told Gwendolyn. To even consider anything more would be devastating ... to both of them.
Her hand lingered, trembled.
A friendship. That's all it could ever be.
"We'll be jogging partners." He took her hands and cradled them in his. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jenny."
"Until tomorrow," she whispered.
He left her sitting on the love seat, holding the music box next to her heart.
Until tomorrow, Jenny.
Chapter Four
Jenny didn't have to set her clock. Sheer excitement propelled her out of bed and down the stairs. When Daniel came, she was waiting on the front porch.
He looked like a hero coming through her gate. A song her mother used to sing echoed in her mind, "Someday My Prince Will Come." Her prince was coming up the sidewalk dressed in jogging shorts, and she felt like Cinderella.
The only difference was Cinderella had an enchantment that changed her from a raggedy cinder girl to a beautiful princess. There was no such enchantment for Jenny. She would always be trapped inside a body that didn't cooperate and a mind that couldn't communicate.
Sometimes she longed to be different. Times like now. She longed to be able to race down the steps without tripping and to say something so clever that Daniel would be astonished at her wit. She longed to have a house she lived in all by herself and her own car so she could go zipping about town visiting friends who would always be glad to see her. And she longed—oh, how she longed!—to be the kind of woman who would make men proud to be seen in her company.
But then, if she were different, she wouldn't be Jenny, and she wouldn't have Jake and Sarah and Gwendolyn and her brothers and sister. But most of all, she might not have Daniel.
She smiled at him, and he smiled right back. Her heart seemed to grow bigger, and she wondered if that's how love felt to normal people.
"Good morning," Daniel said, leaning on the porch railing.
She searched her mind for something clever to say and the right words to say it, but in the end she could only speak from her heart.
"I'm so glad to see you, you take my breath away."
"I don't know that I've ever taken anybody's breath away."
"Do you mind?"
"No." He smiled again. "It's a fine way to start the morning."
"Good. I'll tell you every morning how you take my breath away."
She loved the way he laughed. It was a deep, rich sound that was better than music. When he took her hand and helped her down the steps, she felt as if she might fly instead of jog.
"I thought we'd jog in your neighborhood in case you get tired. If I go too fast, tell me."
"Okay."
"Hold tight, Jenny. Don't let go."
She wouldn't have let go if wild elephants had been stampeding her.
The morning air was fresh and sweet and full of birdsong. She'd never seen the grass look so green, the sky so blue. Always, with her artist's eye, she'd seen things other people didn't. But seeing with the heart added yet another dimension.
"Oh . .. look," she said, pointing to a cardinal winging upward. "He's like a flame against the sky."
She got so caught up in watching the cardinal that she forgot to concentrate on her feet. They betrayed her, and she felt herself going down.
"Oops." Daniel put his arm around her waist and caught her to his chest.
"Those cracked sidewalks can be treacherous," he said, gallantly excusing her clumsiness. He held her close, gazing at her with such tenderness she wanted to stay on the sidewalk forever.
She wondered if it was possible to die of happiness.
He leaned so close she could feel his warm breath against her chee
k. Even the air around them seemed to tremble as his lips almost touched hers.
Almost.
Jenny closed her eyes, afraid to look a miracle in the face.
"Let's rest," he said, abruptly pulling back and leaning against the trunk of an oak tree.
She pressed her hands tightly together, wishing, wishing with all her might to be normal.
"I'm too slow for you, Daniel."
"Ah ... Jenny."
The sadness in his voice broke her heart, and she came dangerously close to feeling self-pity. She balled her hands into fists and jutted out her chin.
"Don't you ever feel sorry for me, Daniel Sullivan."
"Jenny, it's not pity I'm feeling. It's something for more dangerous."
They stared at each other, trapped in two separate worlds, while the sun topped the eastern horizon and spread its splendor across the sky. Slowly Daniel reached for her hand.
"It's time to go back, Jenny."
It would always be time to go back for Jenny.
She was silent as he led her back down the sidewalk, silent as he led her through the gate and up the porch steps.
"Good-bye, Jenny," he said, bending down to kiss her cheek.
"Good-bye, Daniel." She waved as he started down the walk. "Come again."
At the gate he turned for one last look, and she knew he might never come again.
o0o
Daniel stood rigid under the cold shower.
"Fool. Imbecile. Idiot."
He had almost kissed her. Standing on the sidewalk with her sweet face turned up to his, he'd come within a hair's breadth of crushing her lips under his, of caressing her slim back, of fitting his hard body into her delicious curves. He'd wanted her. Not in any sedate, friendly way, but desperately, the way a passionate man wants a desirable woman.
Scowling fiercely, he turned his face upward to the blast of cold water. By all the saints in heaven, what was he going to do about Jenny?
He was still scowling when he arrived at Sullivan Enterprises.
"Miss Gibbs," he snapped. "Come inside for dictation. We have a hard day's work ahead."
"Yes, sir." She all but saluted. Employees bent on pleasing. That's what he liked. Order. Purpose. Success.
Was Jenny in her flower garden, painting?
"Take a letter to Michael Gravlee.... Dear Mike, My offer to buy Gravlee Discount Stores still holds.”
Was Jenny dancing in the sunshine while the carousel music box played their song?
He balled his hand into a fist and banged it onto the top of his desk. Miss Gibbs nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Sir? Did I do something wrong?"
"It's not you, Miss Gibbs. It's me."
Helen Gibbs stared at him, stricken. Then she leaned forward and asked softly, "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
Compassion wasn't in her job description; she was offering it freely ... and it felt good. Perhaps he'd been wrong all these years, pursuing his career with such single-minded obsession that there was room for nothing else. Success was sweeter with a human element. Even Claire had known that.
"Will you accept my apology, Helen?" Daniel left his chair and offered his hand.
"You called me Helen." Flabbergasted, she barely touched his hand then sank back into her chair.
"We've been working together for ten years. It's about time, don't you think?" He gave her a lopsided grin.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Sullivan."
"Call me Daniel." That felt good too. Informality. Compassion.
Perhaps he had a real heart after all.
o0o
Jenny's music box sat on the tray beside Daniel's teacup, playing its silvery tune.
"Daniel," she whispered, and her heart swelled with the beauty and the pain of loving him.
If she were an ordinary woman, she would tell him so, and he would love her right back.
An ordinary woman.
She walked across the room with her lurching gait and stood before the mirror. Except for her limp, she looked just like anybody else. If she didn't know better, she might even fool herself.
But she couldn't fool Daniel. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering how close his lips had come to hers. So close, he'd almost kissed her. Almost.
Tears squeezed from under her lids and rolled down her cheeks. Daniel would never kiss her. She was wishing for too much. Gwendolyn had warned her, but she hadn't listened.
Jenny went into the bathroom and washed the tears off her face. Daniel would never come again. In her heart she knew it was true. In her heart she also understood how he would suffer, making the decision to stay away.
She didn't want him to suffer.
She blew her nose and scrubbed her cheeks one last time, then sat on the edge of her bed and picked up the telephone and dialed information.
Long ago she'd learned it was easier for her to ask a faceless operator than try to look up numbers in the telephone book. Daniel's business number. Would he answer?
Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed the phone and listened to it ring.
"Daniel Sullivan."
Overcome by surprise and delight, Jenny cradled the phone next to her ear and sat there smiling.
"Daniel Sullivan," he said again.
Goose bumps rose on her arms.
"This is Jenny."
"Jenny?"
He sounded glad to hear from her. Or was she dreaming?
"Daniel, I can't paint today because I feel a dark cloud in my heart and my work won't be good." She spoke all in a rush before she changed her mind. I love you, Daniel, she wanted to say. I love you enough to set you free.
"Are you okay, Jenny?"
"I don't feel sunshine in my soul, but it will come back."
"I'm so sorry ..." She held on to the receiver, listening to the wonderful sound of his breathing. "I wish I could put the sunshine in your soul, Jenny."
"I do, too, Daniel." Oh, how she wished he would.
They both held tightly to their telephones, wishing for things that could never be. Their hearts yearned across the great distance that separated them, and even the silence seemed to mourn.
"Is there anything I can do to help you, Jenny?"
"Nothing ... Thank you."
"You'll call when you feel like painting again."
"Gwendolyn will."
"Of course."
"Good-bye, Daniel."
"Good-bye, Jenny."
She couldn't bear to break the connection first. Long after she heard his receiver click into place, she sat on the bed hugging the telephone to her chest.
o0o
Daniel replaced the receiver, but he couldn't bear to relinquish Jenny. He sat in his chair absently running his fingers over the smooth surface of the telephone as if that small action would bind her to him.
"Jenny ... Jenny," he whispered.
Did she sense his real feelings? Was she frightened of him? He'd rather die than have Jenny afraid of him.
He shoved his chair back and was halfway across the room when he realized that his impulse to go to her and explain was self-serving.
She'd called to cancel. Her message was clear: stay away.
Daniel was off the hook.
Funny. He didn't feel off the hook. He felt heartsick.
He paced the room, trying to make sense of what was happening to him ... and to Jenny. Always, he'd been hopelessly inept in matters of the heart.
He punched the intercom. "Helen, would you come in here for dictation."
Work. That was the thing.
o0o
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Jenny whispered. She'd lied to Daniel. He was the only person in the world who could help her. Not her mother or her daddy or her brothers or her sister or Gwendolyn. Only Daniel.
She sat at her desk, took up her drawing pencil, and sketched his face. Then she drew a circle of hearts around his image.
"I love you, Daniel."
Clutching the drawing close to her chest, she remembered the
first time she'd ever loved another person besides her mother. Jake Townsend. How she loved Jake. And how she had fought to have him in her life.
Other memories came, ancient memories.
"Jenny might never walk," she heard the doctor tell her mother.
Oh, how she had struggled to prove the doctor wrong.
"She might never talk," he'd said.
And she'd given the graduation address at Vanderbilt when her brother and her sister had received their degrees.
Suddenly Jenny knew what she had to do. Anything worth having was worth the struggle. Jenny tipped up her chin and left her bedroom. In the hallway she could hear Gwendolyn's snores. Poor Gwendolyn, worn out from worrying over her. No wonder she needed an afternoon nap.
Quietly Jenny made her way down the stairs, holding on to the railing so she wouldn't stumble and make a racket. In the kitchen she packed a picnic basket, then sat at the table and wrote a note. Dear Gwendolyn ... She chewed her bottom lip as she wrote, determined to spell everything just right. I borrowed your car. I hope you don’t mind. Jenny.
Humming to herself, she took the basket and Gwendolyn's car keys, then climbed behind the wheel of an aging Buick and sat there smiling.
Oh, she could picture herself racing down the street. All alone. Driving.
She took a deep breath and inserted the key. Nothing happened. Jenny furrowed her brow, trying to remember what her brother Josh had told her so many years ago.
Turn the key.
She was rewarded with the purring of the engine. Exhilarated, Jenny put the car into gear and stepped on the gas. She shot backward at a wonderful speedy clip, mowing over a hydrangea bush in full bloom and plowing down the birdbath.
"Whoops." Now, how could she get the car to go forward? She was threatening the corner of the garage when she finally figured it out.
Shoot, there was nothing to this driving. Now that she knew the gears, she could certainly keep it on the road.
Triumphant, she roared out of the driveway. Loud crashing noises heralded her progress. Looking in the rearview mirror, she saw the mailbox standing at a crazy angle and a little sapling wearing the same paint as the car.
Would Gwendolyn be upset about that? If the car lost a little paint, Jenny would replace it. She was an expert at paints. Maybe she'd paint flowers and rainbows on the car.
She couldn't think about that now: What she had to think about was how she would ever find Daniel.