by Caroline Lee
Another little shake. “I didn’t lie. I have never, ever loved another woman the way I loved my Jane.” The tears were soaking through her blindfold now.
Slowly, she brought her hands up to cup his cheeks, mirroring his pose. “And I have never loved another man the way I loved my Edward.” It was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to say, but she choked it out.
Judging from the strangled noise he made, he wasn’t in any better shape. “But you’re not my Jane. And I’m not your Edward. We’re two different people. You’re not the carefree, innocent girl I remember. You’ve had to become…proper.” He made it sound like a curse. “I died, and my Jane had to worry about things like appearances and propriety. And me?” She squeezed his cheeks, willing him to stop saying these hurtful, truthful things. “Edward became a monster. A monster you shouldn’t have to live with.”
Abruptly, he dropped his hands from her and pulled away, and she felt like she’d lost a part of her. A part of her heart. The empty space beside her on the bench told her that he’d stood. When he spoke, his voice came from above. “I will always love my Plain Jane. And—“ Another harsh bark of laughter, “And I might’ve loved beautiful Arabella. But I would never ask her to love someone who looks like this. Someone completely unworthy, someone without value.”
She heard the bitterness, wanted to shout No! but couldn’t force sound out past the sobs. Instead, she clasped her fingers to her mouth, and bent at the waist, trying to keep part of her soul intact as he walked out of her life.
“Goodbye, Arabella.” The crunch of gravel, him fumbling at the latch on the gate by the honeysuckle, and then he was gone. And she hugged herself, there in her perfect garden, as great heaving sobs wracked her body. She mourned, again.
CHAPTER TEN
Long after she’d pulled the tear-soaked blindfold away from her face, long after she’d stumbled inside and had to pretend that everything was okay, long after she’d dutifully admired Eddie’s half-completed steamship model and tucked him into bed with Rajah curled beside him, Arabella lay staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above her own bed. Maybe she was all dried out, or maybe she just didn’t want to wake Eddie, but whatever the reason, she didn’t feel like crying anymore. Instead she felt…curiously hollow.
Edward was alive. All this time, he’d been alive. He said that he was a different person, but was he really? All that had changed was his appearance; he was still a compassionate, fascinating man who drew people to him. But if he really was still her Edward, how did she not realize it? His voice had changed, his appearance had changed…but surely she would’ve still known it was him?
She hadn’t, so she was forced to conclude that yes, he had changed. He was a different man than he’d been ten years and a lifetime of heartbreak ago. Her Edward had died, and this man…this man had been surviving in his place. But had he been truly living?
She flopped over, and buried her face in her pillow. He’d been reclusive and quiet when he’d moved to Everland; that wasn’t living. It wasn’t until she got to know him during his evening appointments, until she saw him smiling proudly as Eddie blossomed in his care, that he truly came alive. He’d opened to them, like a bud of one of Milton’s roses, and she’d felt privileged to spend time with someone as talented and worthy and kind as him. Over the last weeks, spring had come to Everland and her garden…and to her heart.
The thought made her eyes open widely. She loved him. She’d gone and fallen in love with her deformed, beastly, wonderful neighbor. She loved Vincenzo Bellini…and it had nothing to do with who he’d been in the past.
Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest as the realization sunk through her limbs. She’d loved Edward Hawthorne, and she loved Vincenzo Bellini. They weren’t the same man, not anymore…but then, she wasn’t the same woman, either. She knew that Edward had loved his Plain Jane, as he’d called her…but could Vincenzo ever learn to love a woman who’d spent a decade putting too much stock in appearances? Could she convince him not to leave, to stay and try? Could she convince him that although she’d changed, she was still worthy of his love, too?
She had no idea how to go about it, but once the thought took root, she couldn’t shake it. She wanted—no, needed—Vincenzo in her life, and just had to figure out how to prove it.
Needless to say, she didn’t get much rest that night. Instead, dawn found her sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a now-cold cup of tea, staring at the bare wall opposite. How many times, during her years with well-meaning Milton, had she wished that her Edward had still been alive? How many times had she wished little Eddie might know his real father?
As the clock ticked away the minutes, she knew that she had a chance. Edward might be her past, but Vincenzo was a chance at a future. A chance at a father for Eddie, a husband for her. And he was leaving.
When Eddie began to stir, she gulped down some of the tea—grimacing at the way it had settled—and put the kettle on the stove for his porridge. Upstairs, they’d had a real stove, and she’d burned more than one meal since moving down here to this old potbelly one. Of course, they could move back upstairs, until she found a new tenant…or—her heart tightened a little—maybe, they could move elsewhere. With him.
There was a knock on the door, and it took her a moment to realize it was coming from the bookstore. Who could possibly be so desperate to borrow a book that they’d come knocking before the sun was fully up? Tucking her robe more tightly around her shoulders, she pushed the door to the store open, and hurried across the dark room. It had felt emptier the last few days, without the joy of Vincenzo’s visits, but this was still her space. She began to smooth down her hair, which hung down her back, but stopped at the last moment. Anyone who was knocking on her door at this hour would just have to put up with her disheveled appearance.
It was a work of a moment to undo the lock and pull open the door to the shop, the little bell tinkling in welcome. Meredith Carpenter stood on her stoop, looking tired but happy in the chilly spring-morning air.
“Good morning, Arabella.”
Arabella looked around, hoping for a hint about her friend’s visit. “Good morning. Would you like to come in?” She opened the door wider, but Meredith waved away the offer.
“Thank you, but I’m off home.” A yawn caught her, and she gestured apologetically as she tried to stifle it. “I’ve just come from Frau Doktor.”
The blacksmith’s wife had been ready to pop with their latest child—number seven?—yesterday. Judging from Meredith’s smile, everything had gone well. “Congratulations are in order, I take it?”
“A fine little boy. I left them both being admired by his Daddy and older siblings. She could probably use an extra hand for a few weeks—I’m going to mention it to Mrs. Spratt, hopefully she can organize something—but for now, I’m going to bed.”
“Well-deserved, I’m sure,” Arabella responded cautiously. She was pleased to know the Doktor family was doing well, but it seemed odd that Meredith would stop by so early to tell her.
Meredith smiled, and blinked lazily for a moment. Then, as if a button had been pushed, her eyes snapped open. “Oh, yes! You must be wondering why I’m here!” Arabella tried to convey with a smile and a wave that she always welcomed her friend’s company, and it hardly mattered when, but Meredith just chuckled. “You must think I’m a ninny. I didn’t come here to yawn at you!”
Fumbling in her pocket, the other woman pulled out an envelope. “I was walking up Andersen Avenue, and this was just sitting in the middle of the road. No mud on it, see?” She handed it to Arabella. “I thought it odd, that it could’ve been blown there, but it was like it was just sitting, waiting for me to see it. Of course I picked it up, and the name was wrong, but the address was right, so I thought I’d deliver it.”
Arabella only nodded. She was too dumbstruck, staring down at the letter in her hand. It was addressed in unfamiliar hand:
Arabella Hawthorne
Mayor Books and B
otany
Everland, Wyoming Territory
“Do you think it’s for you?”
“Oh yes,” Arabella murmured. “It’s for me.” But who could it be from? The only clue was an ornate “G” in the upper left corner of the envelope, surrounded by fancy script that she couldn’t make out. She pressed the envelope to her chest, and could feel her heart pounding on the other side of her robe. Who knew her first married name? Who would be writing to her?
“Well—“ Another yawn, which pulled Arabella’s attention back to her friend. “Sorry.” Meredith chuckled sheepishly. “That’s the lot of a midwife, I suppose. Babies can’t tell time, you know.” Arabella smiled. “I’m glad that the letter belongs to you.”
“Thank you for finding it. I have no idea how it could’ve gotten out there, or why it wasn’t delivered by post, but I’m certainly curious to read what it says.” Curious might’ve been a bit of an understatement. Desperate was more accurate.
Meredith smiled and waved as she said her goodbyes, and then stumbled off towards the little cottage she shared with Jack and Zelle. Arabella closed the door—locking it again, so she wouldn’t be disturbed before she was ready—and pressing the letter to her chest again. She closed her eyes, rested her shoulders against the door, and took a deep breath.
Feeling ready to handle what could be yet another horrible, wonderful surprise, she opened her eyes and crossed to the cozy arrangement of chairs she’d made in the corner by Milton’s botany texts. She turned up the lamp, moved to the end of the seat, and with shaking hands, opened the envelope.
The top of the letter contained the same ornate “G” from the outside of the envelope.
January 1, 1876 Today
Dear Mrs. Hawthorne,
We represent a group of women who excel in meddling in other’s love lives who offer guidance in the sometimes turbulent waters of love help people find their Happily Ever Afters. We are the ones responsible for Vincenzo Bellini settling in Everland; we made his agent aware of the perfect setting this town offered. We did this because a boy needs a father, and a woman needs love. You haven’t allowed anyone to love you, not since Edward left you. Well, don’t let this opportunity pass you by, missy!
The man who is going to be your husband—again—has a ticket for the Haskell train at seven-thirty this morning. Don’t let him get away, Arabella.
One kiss will solve everything.
Ta!
She read the letter twice, and then flipped it over to check the back. It was empty. How…odd. No, that wasn’t strong enough. How bizarre. A letter, dated months ago, about today’s events? She checked the ornate script around the “G”. The Guild of Godmothers? As in fairy godmothers? She tried to scoff, but something held her back.
It was hope. It took a moment to realize, but sure enough, she wanted this letter to be the truth. She wanted there to be a group of ladies out there who had brought her and Vincenzo together. She wanted to keep him in her life, to create her own Happily Ever After.
“Mother?” Eddie pushed his way into the store. “The kettle was boiling, so I took it off.” He yawned behind his hand.
Ten years of mothering made some things automatic, no matter if her mind was far away. “Did you use a towel? This stove is very hot.”
“Yes, Mother.” Did he not realize she could see him rolling his eyes? She frowned, and he smiled his little lopsided grin, and her heart melted a bit. With his hair all pushed up on one side from sleep, and his robe tied lopsidedly, he looked like her baby once more.
Folding the letter carefully, and placing it on the table beside her, she held her arms open to him. Without hesitation, he crossed to her and climbed into her lap. As she pressed her cheek against his hair—how did he always manage to smell like dirt and sunshine?—a set of not-as-small-as-they-used-to-be arms snaked around her waist. She sighed, and he echoed it.
“I’m sorry you’re sad, Mother.”
He’d surprised her, and her first instinct was to deny it. But she snapped her mouth closed, and thought for a moment. He’d grown a lot in the last few weeks with Vincenzo, and could see and understand things now. Finally, she just pulled him closer. “I’m sorry that you noticed it, sweetheart. I thought I was being sneaky.”
“It’s hard, now that we have to live right on top of each other.” She chuckled softly. That was the truth. “But Rajah and I heard you crying outside last night. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how.”
Her sweet baby boy was growing into a compassionate little man. She hugged him, breathing deeply. “I’m glad you didn’t, Eddie. Sometimes a woman needs her space to cry. But I’m also glad you’re hugging me now.”
“Are you feeling better?”
She thought about the letter, about Vincenzo leaving her. Leaving them, again. She thought about the future she wanted for them; the future she hadn’t known she’d wanted until she met a blind violinist. She made her decision.
“Yes, sweetheart. Yes, I am.” She would go after him, like the letter suggested. She’d stop him from leaving. She’d make him understand that thanks to him, she had learned to see past his appearance and understood his worth. She’d make him believe that she’d learned to love him—Vincenzo, not Edward—and hope that he might learn to love the woman she’d become, too. She’d do it for him, for her, and for their son.
With a smile, she hugged Eddie once more. “Now, let’s go make breakfast. You’re smooshing my legs.”
He giggled and hopped down, pulling her to her feet. She inhaled deeply, thinking about what the letter said. Wondering if it would work.
One kiss will solve everything.
He could feel the stares as he hurried along the sidewalk of Andersen Avenue, his violin in one hand and Gordy beside him. He’d come here to retire from the public eye, to avoid his neighbors, and he’d done a good job of it, so far. But here he was, walking down the main street in broad daylight, and everyone was looking at him. He felt hot and itchy in a way that didn’t have anything to do with the shave Gordy had given him yesterday, and everything to do with this feeling of guilt. He was running away again.
“I’ve got yer stick, an’ I’ll speak with the porter about helping ye get off at the right stops.” Gordy seemed more nervous about this trip than Vincenzo was. It was his first time traveling without his friend, and Gordy knew it. “Don’t worry about meals, m’lord, I’ll arrange everything.”
“I hadn’t,” he said blandly. “And I can arrange my own meals.” It was his experience that waving enough money at a problem made it go away, and he had plenty to wave.
“Remember to keep yer wallet in your inner breast pocket. Thieves will see ye as an easy target.”
“Yes, I remember.” The irony in his voice was lost on Gordy.
“I just don’t want ye ta be taken advantage of, m’lord.”
“I seem to recall a time when you attempted to take advantage of me.” Young Gordy had been surprised when his ‘easy target’ had grabbed him by his collar when his hand was still in the blind man’s pocket. “And why are you back to all of the ‘m’lording’?”
A sigh from the man beside him. “There’s steps here. Two of ‘em.” He touched Vincenzo’s elbow to direct him down into the street. “I thought things had changed, here. I thought we were making a future. But if we’re not, callin’ ye by yer given name seems wrong.”
Vincenzo stopped there, in the middle of the street. When he heard Gordy’s little questioning grunt, he placed his free hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You’ve been my friend for years, Gordy, and will always be, I hope. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
And then, to Vincenzo’s complete surprise, Gordy pulled him into a one-handed hug. They held each other like it was the last time they’d see one another. The younger man’s voice was muffled when he finally said, “I’ll miss ye, Vincenzo. Ye’ve been like…well, like a brother ta me.”
“I haven’t been nearly that nice to you, and you know it. I’ve taken outrageo
us advantage of your kindness, and treated you like dirt.”
A laugh, then, which is what he’d been aiming for. “Aye, ye have.” Gordy stood straighter, much taller than Vincenzo. “I just wish…”
Vincenzo knew what the other man wished; he’d made it quite clear. And a big part of Vincenzo wished the same thing. But Arabella had made her standards, her rules, quite clear too, and he knew that no one who looked like him had any place in her life. And he couldn’t stay here in Everland, couldn’t continue giving Eddie lessons, like nothing had changed between them.
“On the other hand…” Gordy’s voice told him that he was facing in the opposite direction, and the speculation Vincenzo heard was enough to make him frown.
“Other hand, what? We need to get to the station.”
“Aye, but wait a moment.”
“For what?”
“For Mrs. Mayor to catch up to us. She’s got her skirts hiked up above her ankles and she’s running as fast as she can for us. For you, rather.” Vincenzo had stopped breathing as soon as he’d heard her name, and whipped around to face the way they’d come, as if he could see her just from Gordy’s words. A fierce, desperate hope rose in his throat and coated the back of his tongue in a sour, vain taste. “Oh look, there’s Jack Carpenter, talking with Micah. I think I’ll just wander over that way to say good morning.”
Vincenzo thought he might’ve nodded at his friend’s lame excuse for giving him privacy, but wasn’t sure. She was chasing after him? To say goodbye, surely? Or to slap him, for what he’d done to her all those years ago?
He caught her honeysuckle scent before she drew to a sudden stop in front of him, and he knew from her heavy breathing that Gordy hadn’t lied about her running. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if he should smile, for fear of his smile revealing more than it should. Like the way he felt about her. Last night…last night he’d almost confessed to her. He’d told her that maybe he could’ve learned to love this new her, but it was a lie.