Beauty: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  She knew she owed this wonderful change to Vincenzo. He talked to the boy as a man, gave him advice, guided him, encouraged him. And the violin lessons hadn’t hurt, either. Watching the two of them play in the garden last night—Vincenzo allowing the boy to take the lead—had made her prouder than she could ever remember being. The two of them got along well, and Vincenzo had brought back the kind, thoughtful, respectful boy she’d raised.

  “Do you think Signore will mind that I brought my pole, Mother?” There he was, being thoughtful. She squeezed his hand.

  “I can’t imagine he would, sweetheart. We don’t know if he has the lake in mind for a picnic, but it is the nicest place around.”

  “I mean, since he can’t fish. Do you think he’d mind if I fished?”

  “I think, Eddie, that Signore Bellini has surprised us in what he can do. Maybe he likes to fish, too.”

  Her son just nodded, and shifted his grip on the poles in his left hand. They’d stopped home after church to pick up the poles and drop off Eddie’s jacket, and were now headed towards Vincenzo’s house. For some reason, she carried his invitation in the pocket of her favorite yellow skirt, for some reason. It wasn’t like she needed to re-read it, but it somehow made her happy to feel the crinkle of paper, and know it was there.

  She’d received the folded message yesterday, when Gordy stepped into her store, tipped his hat, and handed the envelope to her without saying a word. She might have thought she’d offended him, except for the smirk he sent her way. Knowing it was from Vincenzo, she’d opened it right away and saw the script that managed to wander across the paper.

  Join me for a picnic tomorrow after church? Just the three of us.

  So of course she sent Eddie back with an agreement. They often closed the store Sunday afternoon, and this would be a lovely day. Two friends, a teacher and his student, enjoying a gorgeous spring day together.

  As they rounded Perrault Street, she saw Jack Carpenter standing on Vincenzo’s front steps. And…was that Vincenzo himself speaking with him? It was! The man—the self-proclaimed recluse—was actually standing on the front porch, speaking with Jack. The doctor must have alerted him to their arrival, because suddenly he stood straighter and turned his face towards the street.

  She pulled Eddie to a stop in front of his house, and smiled at both men. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Jack bobbed his head and murmured a “hello,” but Vincenzo felt for the railing and came down the steps towards them. His formal, flourishing bow had her giggling. “Mrs. Mayor! I’m so glad that you and young Eddie deigned to join me this fine day. Doctor Carpenter here was just telling me that the absolutely best place to picnic in these parts is north of town, near…” He turned slightly to include Jack in the conversation, “Which lake was it?”

  Jack smiled. “Lake Enchantment, north of town. It’s pretty rare to find a lake in these parts, and this one is…” He shrugged, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, there’s something special about it. It’s actually why Everland is here—people settled here because of it.”

  Nodding, Vincenzo turned back to them. “Then I should visit it, I suppose. Lake Enchantment, apparently. Do you know it?”

  Eddie was practically vibrating with excitement. “Do we? Yes, sir! Tom and Jack and me go down there to fish, all the time!” Eddie’s voice turned hesitant, then. “I brought my poles, if that’s all right, sir?”

  “Of course it’s all right, son. You can give me some pointers.” Arabella’s breath caught slightly at Vincenzo’s grin. He seemed as excited as Eddie was about this outing. As excited as she was, truth be told. “Gordy—who is hiding inside, I think—has already packed a luncheon.” He turned back towards the porch, but Jack was there with the basket, holding it out.

  “Here you go, Signore.”

  The gesture obviously surprised Vincenzo, but he recovered, and managed to grab the basket’s handles on the second attempt. “Thank you, Jack.” Then he thrust his hand out towards the other man. “And thank you for your advice on the picnic locale.”

  One brow raised at the gesture, Jack shook the offered hand, and then glanced at Arabella. She wondered what he thought of her, spending the afternoon with a single man and with only her son for a chaperone. “Not a problem. I hope that you three have a nice time. Meredith, Zelle and I used to head up that way when Zelle was younger, but we stay closer to home these days.”

  As their daughter had gotten older, Jack and Meredith were very careful about where she went and who she went with…and it was more than just being proper. Zelle rarely attended social functions, and Briar was her only real friend. Arabella just credited it to her parents being over-protective.

  They set off for the Lake, Eddie leading the way. After the first few strides, Arabella realized that Vincenzo’s steps were hesitant, and she almost rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Of course the man was hesitant; he couldn’t see, and he rarely left his house. Without once considering how it would look, she took his free hand and tucked his elbow against her side. They were pressed against one another, and she told herself it was for his sake, so that he could feel any changes in cadence or terrain. And she told herself that anyone from town who saw them would only consider that aspect of it; she wasn’t being too improper.

  And she definitely did not tell herself it was because of the frisson that jolted across her chest and down her arms, when she pressed her hip to his. Or because of the way his lips turned up at the contact. Or the way they fit well against one another. Or because of the almost-overwhelming urge to put her head on his shoulder while she watched Eddie scamper ahead.

  “You’re casting wrong!”

  “I know, but how?”

  Eddie sighed in exasperation. “I can’t tell. Maybe you’re not flicking it right?”

  Vincenzo swallowed the urge to laugh. “Son, I can tell I’m not flicking it right. That’s why, so far, I’ve hooked you, the bank twice, and my own pants.”

  “Don’t forget the tree!” Eddie was smiling, he could tell.

  “The tree doesn’t count. That one was your fault for positioning me so close to it.”

  “Sorry, sir.” He could tell the boy wasn’t sorry in the least.

  Vincenzo tried again, and was rewarded with a satisfying plop entirely too close to the bank. He sighed. “Well, Eddie, I think it might be time for me to call it quits. I haven’t held a pole in…well, I was probably not too much older than you.”

  “You’ll get it. It’s just like you told me—it’s all about practice. Here.” Vincenzo released the pole when the boy took it, but was surprised when he felt Eddie’s palm on his. “Feel that blister there? It’s not much, but it’s from fishing all last week. Soon it’ll be a callus!”

  Hiding his grin at the pride in the boy’s voice, Vincenzo solemnly felt the small hands. “I can tell that you practice fishing often. Do you come here instead of helping your mother?” Mrs. Mayor was sitting on a blanket up on the hill with a book and the basket of food. He’d spent some time up there with her, starting a new book. When her voice had given out, he’d accepted Eddie’s invitation to join him by the bank. Occasionally she’d call down tips, and knowing that she was watching made Vincenzo…lighter, somehow.

  The boy pulled his hands away, and his voice sounded distant when he answered. “She doesn’t need me much. Not many people come into the store for books. That’s why we’re renting our home to the Cutters. There’s not enough money.”

  Vincenzo remembered a carefree childhood spent running between houses and around parks in Boston. Eddie might enjoy running off with his friends to fish, but it sounded like it wasn’t exactly carefree. “That’s hard for a boy your age. I’m sorry.” Eddie didn’t reply, and he resisted the urge to tilt his face uphill, to try to feel her gaze again. “Your mother could’ve asked for money in return for our appointments. I value our time together. But instead she asked me to teach you.” The boy still didn’t reply. “I value our time together, too, you
know.”

  There was a noise from the empty space beside him that could’ve been a mumble. Then the plop of a sinker hitting the water. Vincenzo took the hint and, shoving his hands in his pockets, tilted his face up towards the unfamiliar sun. “I’m glad to be here. I’m glad that I met you and your mother. I’m glad you came with me today.”

  “You could marry her, you know.”

  Stillness. Vincenzo felt his blood pumping in his ears, and had to remind himself to inhale. You could marry her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t marry Eddie’s mother, and not just because he was legally still married to Jane. No, he couldn’t marry her because she didn’t see his worth. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the fantasy for one brief moment. “I don’t…” He exhaled. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Eddie.”

  “Why not?” The boy sounded mulish. “You like us, you said. You’re rich. Mother doesn’t think she’ll marry again, I overheard her once talking to Mrs. Carpenter. She said she’s not beautiful enough to interest a man anymore. But you…”

  “I’m blind, yes.” The sun was suddenly too strong, and Vincenzo forced himself to turn towards the shade of the tree. He stumbled over a rock or root or something, but then Eddie was beside him, his hand on Vincenzo’s arm, leading him to a cool patch of grass. He gratefully sank down, his head swimming.

  Eddie’s voice told him that the boy was sitting beside him. “I mean, you don’t seem to care if she’s beautiful or not. She is, by the way. But she says she’s not.” The last part was mumbled, and Vincenzo sighed.

  “You’d better go get your pole before it floats away.”

  “It’ll be fine.” His mother had been worried about the boy’s wild nature; it did sound like he had a stubborn streak, an insistence that he knew what was best.

  “Eddie, I like you. I like your mother, but I can’t… We’re just…we’re friends, Eddie. She’s kind to me, and I hadn’t expected that.” Hadn’t expected it from someone who placed so much value on appearances, at least. “Is she looking this way?”

  There was a rustle of fabric, and the boy grunted. “No.” He must’ve been looking up towards the hill. “Her back’s to us, and she’s digging through the basket. Looks like it’s almost lunchtime.” His voice got louder when he turned back. “So you can say whatever you want to about her. She says it’s not right to gossip, to talk bad about someone else, but I’m not. I don’t think she’s got a lot of friends, but she likes you. You could marry her. You could.”

  Vincenzo was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say at the hopeful note in the boy’s voice. “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

  “You could marry her, and she wouldn’t have to worry about money, and you…” He heard the boy swallow. “I could call you Stepfather, if you wanted.”

  Helpless against the tide of yearning that simple offer produced, Vincenzo lowered his forehead to his drawn-up knees, and locked his fingers behind neck. He didn’t want to be here, having this conversation with this child. He didn’t want to listen to Eddie’s hopeful suggestions. He didn’t want to have to explain why he couldn’t marry the boy’s mother… when the good Lord knew that he wouldn’t mind it much at all.

  “Listen, Eddie… We’re just friends. I don’t even know her name.”

  “Arabella.”

  He felt something in his neck pop when he whipped around to face the boy. Arabella. The casual way Eddie had said the name told him that the boy didn’t realize how life-altering it was. “What?” He felt like he was choking on the word.

  “Mother’s given name is ‘Arabella’. Since you know it now, maybe you could, you know…”

  The pressure building behind Vincenzo’s missing eyes was making it hard to hear, hard to breathe. “Arabella? That’s an unusual name.” He’d only ever heard it once before.

  “My stepfather told me it meant ‘beautiful’, and that she was once the most beautiful woman in all of Boston.”

  Oh God. Oh God. “You’re from Boston?”

  “Yes, sir. Are you all right? You don’t look so good.” Breathe. Breathe. There had to be more than one Arabella in Boston, didn’t there? “Signore?”

  “My…” My wife’s name was Arabella. He’d called her Jane, for so many years, because of a backyard argument they’d had when he was still in short pants.

  Papa says I’m going to be the most beautiful woman in the world, that’s why he named me Arabella.

  I don’t believe it. I think you’re plain. Too plain. I’m going to call you Plain Jane from now on.

  I hate you!

  I hate you too!

  But he hadn’t hated her, and had told her so a few years later, and then they’d married and he’d left her. Left her alone in Boston, where she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Signore Bellini? Are you all right?”

  Signore Bellini. A lie, like the rest of his life. A lie that he wasn’t even proud of. A lie without worth, just like him. “I was just…thinking.” God, he wanted to see the boy. He wanted to stare at the features, to see if there was anything recognizable in them. He wanted to know if this, too, was a lie. “Eddie, your mother was married before?”

  “Yes, sir. Twice. Don’t you remember? Are you okay?”

  “And your father…” Vincenzo took a deep breath. “You were named for him?” It was a stab in the dark, but he lived his life in the darkness. And at that moment, every single fiber of his being was focused on the boy’s answer.

  “Yes, sir.” He heard the pride in Eddie’s answer. “I took my stepfather’s name when Mother remarried, but I was born Edward Hawthorne, Junior.”

  Oh, God.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As always, Eddie scarfed down his meal and excused himself to go fishing again. Lunches at home were always like that, but it was suppers where she’d put her foot down; he had to sit and talk with her. Today, although he ate quickly, he kept up a running description of their time fishing. Arabella participated when necessary—she’d seen Vincenzo’s attempts at casting, and was glad he was too far away to hear her giggles—but mostly she was just happy to let her son talk.

  Now that he was back down by the bank, hunting around for worms and bugs, she could enjoy the rest of the cold roast, cornbread, and bean salad Gordon had packed. It was delicious, and she could see why Vincenzo employed him. The younger man was a phenomenal cook.

  Vincenzo himself had been strangely quiet during the meal, which was in contrast to his easy laughter and teasing before the fishing excursion. He hadn’t done more than answer Eddie’s direct questions, and then with less than his usual verve. Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten much of the meal she’d set out for him, either. Even now, he sat cross-legged, hunched into himself, his plate on the blanket in front of. When they’d arrived, he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but now his forearms rested listlessly on his knees.

  “Vincenzo, are you feeling well?”

  He started, as if forgetting her presence. Instead of answering right away, though, he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being out in the sun like this.”

  “It is warm, isn’t it?” He didn’t respond. “July and August will be almost unbearable, though, so it’s lovely to be out in the spring.” She put aside her plate, and stretched her legs out in front of her, not caring that a bit of her stocking was showing. He was blind, wasn’t he? She sighed and tilted her head back to feel the sun on her face. “Thank you so much for coming up with this idea, and inviting us. We haven’t shared something like this in a while.”

  He exhaled, and finally said, “May I ask you something, Arabella?”

  The sound of her name on his lips—the first time she’d heard him say it!—sent a shiver of longing through her. It had been too long since a man had spoken her name like that; full of desperation and need. It probably wasn’t proper, to have him calling her by her given name; but she’d been using his, and there was no one to hear it, and…well, she wanted that
intimacy with him. She swallowed down her unseemly lust. “Of course.”

  “I’ve never spoken of my past, and I appreciate that you have respected that.” She nodded, although he couldn’t see. Since she met him, she’d been curious why he had an Italian name, but didn’t speak with any sort of accent. She suspected that he’d re-made himself at some point before becoming the world-renowned virtuoso Vincenzo Bellini, but she hadn’t asked, because he obviously wanted that part of himself kept private.

  So all she said was “Yes.”

  He cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. “I’d like to ask you a question, though, if you’ll allow it.”

  “Of course.” She had no secrets in her past; Rule Number Three was to not share shameful secrets, but only her lack of income really applied these days.

  “Would you…” He ran his hand through his hair again, and then shifted position suddenly, so his knees were drawn up and his arms locked around them. He looked… vulnerable, hugging himself, and she felt her stomach clench. There was something wrong here. “Would you tell me about Eddie’s father?”

  Edward? He wanted to know about Edward? Arabella’s brows drew in, confused. How could her first husband possibly interest him? “Edward and I were childhood friends. We lived beside one another, and neither of us had siblings.” He leaned forward slightly, as if encouraging her to continue. “We married when I returned from school, like we’d always known we would, and we were quite happy.” She smiled slightly, thinking about those years they had together. “Our parents passed away, one by one, but we managed my father’s book-binding business through the early years of the war.”

  He passed a hand over his face, scrubbing it through his beard in a gesture that was somehow familiar. Had she gotten so used to this man, already, then? “And the war?” He sounded like he had swallowed something prickly.