Watermarks

by Jarvis, J. L.

  "I love you." Her words escaped in a whisper. She hadn't intended to say it. The words had rushed out.

  Maggie saw, in his eyes, something she had never seen before. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sound from the periphery broke into the silence. A man's voice came from a shadowy figure. "Allison?" Maggie turned toward the voice.

  "No," said Andrew, a little too gruffly.

  "Well, Andrew, how nice to see you," he said, staring at Maggie.

  "Maggie, you remember Mr. Sutton."

  Maggie smiled and nodded, as Powell nodded back with a hint of derision. "Miss McLeary."

  "MacLaren," corrected Andrew.

  "I beg your pardon," said Powell. "What brings you up to the lake, Miss MacLaren?"

  Maggie smiled. "Mr. Adair."

  Powell forced haughty smile as his eyes traveled downward in unmasked disdain. "I see. But surely these are unfamiliar parts to you."

  "No, not really."

  "That's odd. I don't recall having seen you at the club before."

  Maggie was oblivious to the disdain beneath Powell's gentility. But Andrew was not. He knew better than to tarry in Powell's company.

  "Miss MacLaren, we're monopolizing Mr. Sutton." She looked at Andrew and detected annoyance, but did not understand it. Andrew offered his arm to Maggie, which she took. And then, with a curt nod to Powell, he led her away.

  "Andrew, is something wrong?" Maggie was too kind and trusting to recognize Powell's affront. She took Powell's remarks as conversation rather than condescension. However, she began to view the whole encounter as a fortuitous check on her soaring emotions.

  Andrew said, "Don't mind Mr. Sutton. He's just got a unique personality."

  "I don't mind him, really," said Maggie, bemused.

  Allison slipped away as the dance was near ending. Some couples danced their last dance while others meandered along the boardwalk, but Allison chose the roadside, hoping for solitude. As she came within sight of the cottage, she could still hear fading music and conversation. At times, muted laughter soared over the murmurs. She walked in no hurry. Refreshed by the night air, she enjoyed being alone with her thoughts. As she distanced herself from the gathering, she thought of how different this year felt from the last. She had come through a dark time. Now, for the first time in years, she looked forward to her future--their future.

  "It's not safe to be wandering alone out here." A voice from behind pierced the darkness.

  An instinctive gasp was all she could manage, for she knew the voice. From the shadows, Powell emerged.

  "You gave me a fright!" Although Allison acted relieved, knowing it was Powell did not ease her concern. She could not help but suspect that he'd followed her here. He had always seemed harmless, but lately his behavior had become rather strange. She was forced to admit that his feelings for her were behind it, and yet she'd done nothing to encourage him. She had shied away from confronting him with the blunt truth. Instead, she hoped he would realize on his own that there was no future for them. She looked toward the cottage and wished she were in it.

  "You ought to be more careful," he said, as he walked by her side toward it.

  Her light laugh sounded uneasy. "I felt perfectly safe until you came along and scared me to death!"

  Powell got into step with her and offered his arm, which she pretended not to see. He looked at her with a helpless frown. "I did not mean to scare you." His voice was soft and controlled.

  "Sneaking up on a person in the dark tends to have that effect." As they rounded the corner of the carriage house, Allison was relieved to be nearing the door. "Well, here we are. Good night, Mr. Sutton."

  "I was hoping to talk to you," Powell explained.

  "Yes, of course. Perhaps tomorrow. It's late and I'm awfully tired." The cottage was dark. Of course, no one would be home. She had been the first to leave the club. She hesitated by the carriage house, reluctant to lead Powell any closer to the empty house. At least outside there were people, although none were nearby at the moment.

  "Allison. Please. I wanted to..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet covered box, which he opened. "I saw these and thought of you."

  Allison looked long enough to see a pair of earrings. More than that she did not care to notice. "Mr. Sutton, I can't accept those."

  "I want you to have them."

  "No," she said in a voice that was soft, but firm.

  "But you must. I insist."

  "It's too..." She exhaled and looked over his shoulder. They were quite alone. "It's a personal gift. To accept might give an impression that's simply not true."

  He thrust the gift toward her.

  She shrank back. "I'm so sorry. If I've led you to hope we could be more than friends--well, you've been a dear friend. And that is what we are--friends." Even that was tenuous. Linked only through her deceased husband, their friendship survived by obligation. Nevertheless, she felt guilty for being sickened by his attentions. Surely it was unkind to react so strongly against a person who had done so much for her, and solely for caring for her and expressing admiration. Even now, she worried that she had seemed cruel.

  He stepped closer to her and with so odd an expression that she found herself watching his eyes and his mouth. His ominous calm put her on edge. If she moved toward the house, he would follow. The road was worse, darkened by shadows. He was lifting her hand, and the gift was soon in it. The presence of the gift forced a response. She tried to conceal her revulsion, which she tried to believe was mere pity.

  "No, I cannot."

  "Just let me see them on you." Powell's voice was edgy. She shuddered to feel his hand clamp round her arm. He moved closer until she felt his moist breath upon her neck. From the tiny box, he took one of the earrings and brought it to her ear, while he pulled her insistently closer. His fingertips traced the outline of her ear, and then he snapped the clasp of the earring. She flinched. His hand tightened about her arm.

  "Powell, please," she pulled steadily away.

  His sharp eyes bore through her.

  She said quietly, "Please, let me go."

  Powell seemed not to notice her anxious resistance. His fingers strayed from her ear to her neck, as he opened his hand to grasp hold at the nape.

  "Allison," he said with a husky whisper that stuck in his throat.

  The other earring slipped from her hand as she pulled one hand free to remove the earring from her ear and press it into his hand. Then she tried to step back, but his fingers were clamped on her arm and his other hand caught her free wrist, so she could not pull further away. He held fast with a resolute look. "Just a small thank you kiss. You owe me that much."

  "No, I can't. I'm expected inside."

  "By whom?" She knew he'd see through her excuse, but a gentleman would have honored her wishes. He drawled, "Allison, honey, I've waited so long." His eyes were lit with unnatural fervor. He locked his arms around her and forced her against him.

  Chapter 10

  "No. Mr. Sutton!" She turned her face sideways and felt halting breaths against her throat as she struggled against him. Her voice came out to soft. "Stop! Powell, please leave me alone."

  He spoke between devouring kisses. "We are alone."

  "No you're not."

  Like thunder, Samuel's voice filled the air as he grabbed Powell's collar and pulled him from Allison.

  Powell flew to the ground and looked up with wide eyes. Shock, fear, and loathing crossed over his face while he fought to regain his composure. "This doesn't concern you." He rose to his feet. "So run along, boy. Mrs. Kimball and I have some unfinished business." Powell turned his back to Samuel and slid his palm about Allison's waist to lead her away.

  With a swift and heavy hand, Samuel grabbed Powell's arm, until he was forced to release her. Samuel then clamped his hand on Powell's neck until he cast pleading eyes up at Samuel.

  Samuel glared. "Any business you think you had with the lady is finished."

  Facing defeat, Powe
ll cowered like a cornered animal, plotting his next move, while Samuel put himself in front of Allison. There the men stood in arrested hostility.

  Lighthearted laughter rang through the air as the Adairs rounded a corner and encountered the three.

  "Well, good evening!" Charles Adair's cheerful voice cut through the arctic stillness.

  With his wife on his arm, he approached the trio. Andrew and Maggie, still laughing, followed close behind. With astonishing sangfroid Powell walked over to greet them. Allison thought she heard Andrew make some flippant remark about suspicious characters lurking in the shadows, but her mind was racing too far ahead to absorb anything that was happening. Samuel distanced himself from Powell Sutton but remained at Allison's side.

  With her usual warmth, Lillian Adair said, "My dears, what are you all doing out here in the night air. Let's go inside!"

  They advanced toward the cottage, with Powell beside them, and Andrew and Maggie close behind. Samuel lagged behind long enough to whisper something to Allison, and then the two followed everyone inside.

  Allison would not speak of the incident with Powell to her parents. He would twist things around to his advantage. What had he done, really, but give her a fine gift. No, to discuss the incident would only bring more attention, and pressure, upon her. Powell had managed to wheedle his way into their good graces since Edmund's death. With admiration they had watched him fulfill his promise to Edmund by looking after Allison. How they adored him for it. Powell had established himself as the heir apparent to Allison's affections, creating the insidious illusion of an engagement, the formality of which was delayed only by the duration of Allison's grief. Now that her mourning had ended, Powell behaved as though his time had come. Too late, Allison wished she had been more adamant in making her feelings clear early on. Perhaps then she might have disabused her parents--and Powell--of the notion. Instead she had chosen, with more instinct than calculation, to hide from her grief and avoid any conflict that threatened to destroy the new peace she had at last found.

  Her marriage had not been the sublime union everyone seemed to assume. Her husband's wealth and position had not compensated for his cruel nature. Yet, when he fell ill, she dutifully cared for him through his illness and honored him in his death. She refused to address the innuendo of gossips, for there was a cloud over the source of his illness and cause of his death. Nor did she stoop to confront their remarks with the truth. She had convinced herself that she was taking the high road, but in truth, she was simply too weary to resist. She let people think what they chose to think and insulated herself by avoiding the offenders and, eventually, everyone else.

  Having retreated from the world, Allison found herself in the company of Samuel who, not by choice, had been exiled from his proper place in society. He and Allison were friends, and had been so for years. Allison never knew she was falling in love. She just found herself there, in a quiet and startling way.

  Allison stood at her window, waiting. Powell's behavior had shaken her. Now, in the stillness, she was hesitant to venture out of her room. She looked through her window into the night sky. Powell must be asleep by now. She shuddered to recall his eyes, chillingly intense with thoughts she dared not imagine. But she would not let that deter her.

  Down the stairs Allison crept, and along the narrow hallway to the back door. Without a sound, she closed the door behind her. The floorboard creaked and her shoulders jerked in fright.

  "It's alright," said the familiar voice. She flew to him as he enveloped her waist and shoulders with sturdy arms. His chest pounded against hers. "It's alright," he repeated as he stroked her hair and her face. He was strong and warm, and she felt safe.

  Silent moments passed before she lifted moist lashes and whispered, "If you're my Dutchman, then why am I the one feeling lost at sea?"

  "If you are, then I'm lost with you."

  Their mouths met, and each touch sparked new warmth until they clutched at each other, afraid they would burn with need. Beneath wounds and scars, their souls fit, compelled to complete one another.

  A sound from the house, of wood creaking, broke into the intimate silence and forced them to part.

  "It's the wind," Samuel said, but he did not sound certain.

  Allison stepped away to the edge of the porch and took hold of the rail. Samuel sat across from her on the steps, looking off into the night sky. Properly distant, they waited and listened. But before long the dark made them daring. The quiet night kept at bay all the world and its judgment. Samuel moved closer and clasped Allison's hand. Her heart broke from sorrow and rapture. She leaned her head on his shoulder and stared at the sky. It was clear. "Why is there never a shooting star when you have a wish?"

  "There's no star big enough." He touched his lips to her fingers. "A falling star that big would destroy the world."

  "Or change it for the better."

  He looked down at the ground. "Minds don't change."

  "But if people could just see--"

  He shook his head. "They would see me, a man of color, with you, a white woman. They would see, but not think beyond that," Samuel said.

  Allison's eyes dimmed. "So we're both like your story--both Flying Dutchmen. And for daring to love, we're condemned to sail for eternity, alone and shunned by all."

  He was still for a moment, and then said gravely, "No, we still have a choice."

  Samuel stared into the trees with eyes darker than night. "I don't want what lurks ahead for you if you're with me."

  "It's no life, if I can't be with you."

  Samuel held both her hands in his, studying them. He shook his head and then brought her hands to his lips. "I would spare you so much if I ended this now."

  "You can't mean that."

  Samuel touched his fingers to her lips to quiet her, as he leaned his forehead against hers.

  Allison whispered, "You'd condemn us to live out our lives alone and apart?"

  He took her face gently in his hands and looked into her eyes. "I must love you enough to do what's best for you."

  Allison started to turn from him, but he held her face and leaned closer. Their lips nearly touched as he said, "But know this, my love for you will drive every thought, every action."

  "And your love will break me." She buried her face in his neck as he tightened his arms about her. "I am lost. You are water and air, and you'd leave me to wither without you."

  "I'm not going anywhere right now."

  "But you will."

  "Not unless I'm forced."

  "Forced?"

  "If someone found out."

  Faint hope brightened her eyes. "We'd run away!"

  "You don't know what you're saying."

  She said, "Not now, but someday."

  Samuel shook his head. "Do you really think it's that easy?"

  Allison met his questioning eyes with defiance.

  He said, "Allison. There is no happily ever after for us. We'd have no one--no home--no family. You don't understand how that feels."

  "Maybe not, but I know what it's like to see you close enough to touch, and yet out of my reach. I know how it feels in a room full of people when your gaze rests on me for an instant, and I have to conceal how you've made my face flush."

  Samuel trailed his thumb over her cheek.

  "I know that my heart is so full..." her words caught in her throat, and she could not go on.

  With a glance toward the cottage windows, he took hold of her hand and led her into the trees, where the shadows would hide them. Allison followed him, and knew that she would do so forever.

  Beneath the night shadows of trees, they pressed their bodies together, blocking all troubling thoughts. Ignoring their fears, they gave life to their longing. The wind blew and a leafy twig brushed against them.

  Samuel looked up suddenly, and then relaxed when he saw that no one was there, only branches that swayed in the darkness.

  "It's just the wind," said Allison.

  Samuel smiled wry
ly. "Even the wind is against us."

  Allison clung to her hope. "We are stronger. What we have is true."

  "The truth may wage a good fight against hatred, but we'll bear the wounds from that battle."

  She covered his mouth with her hand, and then buried her face in his neck, willing the world to be still. He lifted her chin, and they kissed. They let go of their sorrows. Their bodies were one. No more words passed between them. But the wind stirred the trees and the leaves whispered about them.

  Maggie opened the door, still smiling from memories of her day at the lake. She peeked through the curtains to watch Andrew drive off in the runabout. A muffled voice from the kitchen broke her reverie. Pencils and sketches lay strewn about the floor. Maggie rushed through the door to the kitchen, where she found Beth on the floor with Hank bent over her. His hands covered her mouth and nose. Her arms were flailing. A helpless Robin looked on in horror with a wooden embroidery hoop clutched in her hands.

  Maggie jumped on Hank's back and pounded him with her fists. It was only enough to distract him so Beth could catch a few gasps of air. She cried, "Robin, get Jake!"

  He swatted Maggie away with one powerful arm as he turned his head and said, "Get out!"

  Robin dropped the hoop and ran out the door.

  Maggie fell back across the floor. Her head grazed the hearthstone. She reached out her arm to pull herself up. Her hand landed on the bellows. Energy coursed through her and sharpened her mind. As she pulled herself up, she had only one purpose: to stop Hank. Bellows in hand, she lunged across the room and struck him on the head. He barely flinched as he pivoted toward her. His heavy hands pulled down her shoulders until her balanced faltered and her knees surrendered. He stooped over to finish the job.

  "I told you to stay out of this!"

  Maggie kicked him and scrambled away, but Hank caught her by the ankle and yanked her back. Beth lay coughing and gasping for air. Hank grabbed Maggie by the throat.