The Kissing Tree

by Bice, Prudence

  10. Rescued

  Georgiana laid her paintbrush down on the lip of her easel. Dark clouds had rolled in and changed the lighting on the mountains she was painting.

  Standing up, she stretched her back and looked around her. This place was perfect. She had found the meadow when the men had gone to gather the cattle, and she had already painted more than one picture here. Since the snowcapped mountains pleased her so much, she was once again drawn to this same meadow to paint from a slightly altered viewpoint.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, she took a moment to gaze at the surroundings. The meadow was small, but still wide enough so that while sitting in the middle, she could see over the low-growing pinyon pines to the majestic mountains behind them. An old felled tree lay in the center and provided a suitable if not adequately comfortable place to perch with her easel set up in front of her.

  Still admiring the beauty around her, Georgiana spotted a rather large stone to the east side of the clearing and walked over to it. Climbing on top of it and hugging her arms around her knees, she warmed her bare feet on the stone’s surface.

  The air was starting to cool quite a bit, and a strong westerly wind was just beginning to blow. Her instincts told her she should pack up and head back to the house, but she pushed her nagging senses aside and made no move to leave. There were still so many things swirling around in her mind that she wanted to take a moment to sort them out.

  Another two weeks had flown by already, making it an even five since she had arrived from New York. It had taken her a week to finally get around to reading all of Dawson’s letters. By then she had been presented with another bundle from Jeremiah after he had gone into town to pick up some nails. Having finished the new fences, the men had been busy making sure the old ones were repaired and secured in anticipation of the coming winter storms. It seemed Mrs. Swansen had made it a priority to make sure Georgiana got all her letters, especially those from Dawson, promptly. Tiny had ridden into town again today, and she feared what would be at the ranch when she got back.

  Georgiana let out an exasperated sigh. Not only was it starting to get ridiculous trying to keep up with Dawson’s letters, but it was also difficult reading his increasing desperation for her return. While she did miss him, she dreaded leaving the peace and sanctity she felt living here in this beautiful land nestled amongst such majestic giants. Furthermore, since first arriving, she’d felt needed and appreciated. She lived her days purposely and with lucidity, always knowing what tasks lay before her and enjoying the fruits of her labors. There was a comfort in knowing what was expected of her, while life offered plenty of other surprises to keep her happy.

  She sorely missed her mother and her two younger brothers. Her love and devotion for them was what had kept her from losing herself completely while living with her aunt. Her time at Ms. Wilmington’s had been a blessed respite but had ended all too soon. At least when she had returned, she had her painting and drawing to derive pleasure from. Still, her aunt’s home was such a contrast to the bright chattering halls of the school. Her aunt’s home felt even more oppressive than before, so she began devoting a good part of her day to sitting in the park sketching. That was how she had come to know Dawson.

  It was the first of summer, and the air was warm but still not too humid to be enjoyed. She’d found a place to sit under the shade of a big oak tree.

  She had noticed him the first day she’d come. In fact, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time admiring the way he played uninhibited with his younger brother, who obviously adored him immensely.

  He had brought his brother back to the park the next day, and she watched as he once again played with the young boy, this time along the water’s edge, catching frogs and pollywogs and skipping stones along the lake’s placid surface. Once, she looked up and thought he had been staring at her, but he had looked away too quickly, and she couldn’t be certain. She took a moment then to fully admire him. To say he was attractive would be putting it mildly. He was quite tall, with broad shoulders and a chiseled, handsome face. She couldn’t be sure from the distance whether his eyes were green or blue, but his hair was as black as the night and boasted a soft natural curl many women would envy. All together, his looks were quite agreeable indeed. The following day, he introduced himself.

  She was sitting by her usual tree sketching a pair of swans that had ventured unusually close to the water’s edge, when a voice above startled her.

  “Good afternoon, lovely lady.”

  Glancing up, she was aghast to see him perched casually and looking quite comfortable on a tree limb not too many feet above her head. She couldn’t help but smile. Who was this handsome stranger that not only sailed play boats and caught pollywogs, but spent his days climbing trees as well?

  “Good afternoon to you, sir,” she had replied.

  “Would you mind terribly if I came down and indulged in the pleasure of your company for a spell?”

  “Well, seeing as I’d rather indulge you than have to rescue you when you fall down and break your leg, I’m inclined to concede to your request.”

  “Rescue me?” In one fell swoop he swung down from the tree and was sitting at her side. “Why, it is I, lovely lady, who intend to rescue you.”

  “And what, pray tell, will you be rescuing me from, kind sir?” she asked, raising one brow curiously.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned slightly toward her.

  “From that rather odd, robust-looking man over there.” He made a slight gesture with his hand off to his left. Georgiana leaned forward to look past him when he suddenly cried out, “Don’t look, milady! He will suspect we are speaking of him.”

  Quickly, she turned her head in the opposite direction.

  “Who is he?” she asked, her curiosity now fully piqued.

  “I’m not sure exactly, but he has been here two days in a row and . . . ,” he paused for effect, “I saw him looking at you yesterday. Then earlier today he seemed to be studying you quite assiduously.” She was having difficulty keeping her eyes from searching out the supposed man.

  “Do you think I have cause to worry then . . . to fear his intentions?” Georgiana shivered slightly as she posed the question.

  Instead of answering, he slowly turned his head to gaze at the man. She made to do the same.

  “No, don’t look!” he warned, and again she abruptly turned away. “I’m only checking to see if he’s staring even now,” he explained. He was quiet for a moment, and she became impatient.

  “Well?”

  “A moment ago, before I came to your aid, it appeared he might be getting up the nerve to request an audience with you.”

  “And now?” she asked earnestly.

  “Now, he is looking rather disappointed. I believe he thinks you and I are companions of some sort, which is exactly what I had intended.” He turned back to face her and flashed a candid smile. “Only to save you from him, of course.”

  “Of course,” she mimicked. She had a sudden feeling he was playing a game, but she was presently inclined to play along. He suddenly gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.

  “I do believe the worst is past and that he was only enamored with your beauty and your grace. I have surely saved you from some unknown catastrophe this day.”

  “And what makes you think I need saving, Mr. . . . ”

  “Alexander . . . Dawson Alexander.” He quickly took up her hand and kissed it graciously.

  “Well then, Mr. Alexander . . . I ask you again, just what triggered your heroic actions?”

  “He is most certainly not your type, Miss . . . Miss . . .” He gave her a questioning look.

  “McLaughlin . . . Miss Georgiana McLaughlin.” She eyed him while speculating how he had, not so unwittingly, secured an introduction from her. “And what is my type exactly?” she continued.

  “Well, Miss McLaughlin, I have an inkling you would prefer a more . . . prepossessing gentleman, one not quite so rotund, and certainly wi
th a better sense of fashion.”

  Georgiana was suddenly startled when a dark bundle fell from the tree above, bringing a branch full of leaves down with it and landing on the grass in front of them. The “bundle” stood up and grinned from ear to ear.

  “Dawson, did you see that?” the boy declared proudly. “I have never jumped down from so high before.” He was a perfect miniature of his older brother.

  “I’d be more impressed, Thomas, if you hadn’t terrified Miss McLaughlin here.”

  The boy turned his eyes to her, seeming to notice her for the first time.

  “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He looked duly penitent.

  “I’m quite all right. No harm done, see?” She quickly brushed the leaves from her dress and smiled up at him to ease his worries. “Especially since I have only just been rescued by your gallant brother here.”

  “Rescued?” Thomas glanced perplexedly over to his brother. “From whom?”

  “Why, from that man right over there.” She pointed vaguely in the direction Dawson had indicated moments before without actually looking. Thomas started to turn his head that way.

  “Oh, don’t look!” she exclaimed. “We wouldn’t want him to know we’re discussing him.”

  Thomas gave her a doubtful look and glanced over anyway.

  “Why, that’s only Mr. Weathereby. He owns the sweet shop around the corner. Why would you need to be rescued from him?”

  Georgiana looked over to Dawson and raised an eyebrow at the sheepish look on his face. For the first time, she glanced over at her would-be admirer.

  The man was indeed robust, with an ample paunch. Though he wasn’t wearing a look of utter disappointment as Dawson had surmised but rather seemed to be quite cheerfully enjoying what appeared to be a very large and satisfying meal. She looked again to Dawson.

  “Mr. Weathereby, is it?” Georgiana queried. Thomas answered instead.

  “Sure, he comes to the park every day to eat his lunch.” Glancing at the man again, this time with a hopeful look, he added, “Sometimes he even hands out free peppermint sticks.”

  As if on cue, Mr. Weathereby packed his things back into his basket and withdrew a bulging sack. Immediately, he was converged upon by a multitude of children. Thomas looked over to Dawson hopefully.

  “Dawson, may I?”

  Dawson nodded his head, and Thomas immediately ran to join the thronging crowd of children all vying to be a recipient of one of the tasty treats.

  Georgiana laughed softly at the memory.

  She and Dawson had become fast friends after that, spending most of the remaining summer days together either walking in the park or taking rides through the countryside. It was a poultice to her heart to have a dear friend once again.

  He had been patient, not forcing his desires to further their relationship upon her. She had known since the beginning his ardor for her had been the greater, but she cherished their developing friendship and hoped in time her feelings for him would grow stronger. Near the time of the annual Masquerade Ball had been a turning point in their relationship, a turn which brought them even closer.

  One evening, two weeks before the ball, she and Dawson were sitting in the gardens at his family’s estate. They often spent time at his house rather than her aunt’s. She could feel the love in his home. Each room was filled to the brim, enough to spill out from the windows, crowding her heart with remembrances of a similar feeling she left behind in her grandparents’ home so long ago.

  Today was her grandmother’s birthday, and she’d sent her a birthday card, along with a letter to Samantha only that afternoon. As it always did, sending letters to her friend when she knew she would receive no answer had put her in a somber mood. She didn’t even know why she still continued to write. She supposed she only did so out of habit and maybe out of some misguided longing. It was as if she were writing her thoughts down and then tossing them, sealed in a bottle, into the sea. Though they were likely never to be read, the simple act brought a measure of peace for having released the words from her mind.

  Dawson suddenly startled her with his question.

  “What was your home like back in Colorado? You never talk about it. I’ve seen you sending letters I presume are for family and friends there, but like today, the letters don’t seem to bring you much joy.”

  He reached over and took her hand. He had never held her ungloved hand before, and it surprised her how soft his hands were.

  “There’s not much to talk about.” She turned her head slightly to the side and watched intently a small sparrow gathering some broken twigs into its beak under a nearby bush. Her emotions were mounting, and she didn’t wish to subject Dawson to a distressing display of feminine sentimentality.

  “I know you were still young when you moved, but surely you left some friends behind. You lived there eleven years, did you not?”

  “Yes,” she answered, noticing a slight tremble in her voice. Try as she might, she feared she would not be able to hold the tears at bay threatening to be released if he kept asking her questions.

  “Well, besides your grandparents, who else have you still kept in contact with?”

  A single rebellious tear trailed hidden down the far side of her face as she kept her head turned from him. It didn’t stay hidden for long. In the next instant, he released her hand, laid his gently on her warm cheek, and turned her face toward him.

  He looked stricken to discover the tear and wiped it away with his thumb.

  “Georgiana, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” He drew his hand gently away.

  “No, it’s all right, Dawson.” Maybe if she talked about it, shared her feelings of rejection and frustration, she would finally be able to move past . . . her past. So she told Dawson of her two friends and how they hadn’t ever written back.

  “Strange,” he commented when she was through. “Maybe it’s not what you think.” Georgiana shook her head back and forth.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she agreed, though she couldn’t see how. “Come, you promised to show me your mother’s new pair of swans,” she said, standing. “Let us go to the pond before Thomas has them in such a fright they’ll never come out of hiding.”

  Dawson stood, took her hand, and laced his fingers through hers. It felt warm and comforting. She smiled up at him as they walked toward the pond. They hadn’t spoken of her friends again after that, but she’d somehow felt closer to him.

  Dismissing thoughts of Dawson, Georgiana turned her musings to Ridge.

  She hadn’t seen much of him lately. He had taken Jeremiah with him over to the land office in Castle Rock to conduct some business for her grandfather. It was more than that though. It was as if he was purposely avoiding her, skipping meals and spending most of his free time either out in the barn or in the bunkhouse so he didn’t have to see her. Today at breakfast was the first time she’d laid eyes on him in more than a week, and still he had avoided looking her in the eyes.

  He must regret having ever kissed me, she thought. Why else would he be acting the way he is?

  Georgiana contemplated his kiss. She knew she would never regret it. An excess flood of moisture came to her mouth just thinking of it. Would that it had held as much meaning for him as it had for her. A now familiar tingling sensation spread through her limbs whenever she so much as pictured his face. He didn’t even have to be physically near anymore to affect her in such a way. She knew no other man could ever awaken in her such longing . . . such depth of emotion. If she ended up marrying Dawson, would she be content to live her life without ever again experiencing such a deep stirring within her? She may not have a choice. She was suddenly unsure in which direction her life was headed, but that didn’t stop her from pondering on Ridge’s kiss further. Georgiana sighed.

  Meals were tense for a while with Jimmy. He had brooded for days after witnessing their passionate exchange. Unfortunately, it hadn’t discouraged him enough to stop him from vying for her attention. Act
ually, it seemed quite the opposite. Between Ridge’s kiss and her sudden barrage of “love notes,” as the men had started calling them—no thanks to Jonas—Jimmy had become even more persistent. He had somehow deduced that if he didn’t make his move quickly, either Ridge or the doting and persistent Mr. Alexander would secure her heart.

  Poor Jimmy. She’d felt bad, and the situation was out of control. A week ago, she had asked him to go for an evening walk with her. It had been difficult, but she finally found the words to explain to him that though she adored him and considered him most amiable, she did not possess any feelings for him beyond friendship. When his face still appeared hopeful, even after all that, she assured him she wouldn’t be changing her mind in the future.

  She felt a huge sense of relief when Jimmy finally seemed to accept what she was saying. Surprisingly, he only sulked for a few days before returning to his normally cheerful self. His demeanor became more confident and relaxed, and she began to truly enjoy his friendship.

  Abruptly and without warning, a huge gust of wind hit Georgiana square in the chest, almost knocking her backward onto the ground. Quickly, she glanced at the sky and saw that dark, ominous clouds now covered the meadow completely. She had been too deep in thought to notice the changes occurring about her. A twinge of regret at having pushed her instincts aside made her nervous, and a powerful sense of foreboding rose within her.

  Hastily jumping down from the stone, Georgiana forgot her feet were still bare until she felt something sharp pierce through the tender flesh of her left foot. She cried out in pain. Immediately sitting back on the stone, she lifted her foot to examine it. A sharp, jagged piece of shale was embedded deep into her skin. She winced before grabbing the protruding edge of the shale and looking away. Quickly, she pulled the treacherous piece of rock from her foot. Blood instantly oozed from the gash.

  Using the hem of her dress, Georgiana pressed the cloth tightly against the wound to stop the flow of blood. The wind was now starting to tear feverishly past her, and she knew she needed to make haste. She waited only a few moments before releasing her foot and attempting to stand.