by Jane Peart
Before she rose to leave, Lynette asked, “Is there anything I can do for you? Any shopping you need done? I mean, it must be difficult for Mitsuiko to deal with things in a strange town, in another language.”
“That is very kind of you to suggest, thank you, but Mitsuiko actually does quite well. English is a second language taught in Japanese schools.”
“I just thought”—Lynette gathered her gloves and handbag—“there might be something …”
As they walked to the front door, Brooke said, “As a matter of fact, perhaps there is something—that is, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. A book at the library? Mitsuiko has gone there, but I’m afraid her selection …” Brooke laughed. “Her taste runs to stories about orphans. In fact, her favorite book is Anne of Green Gables. She adores ‘Anne of the Red Hair,’ as she calls it. Red hair being a rarity in Japan, it is probably part of the appeal.”
“Of course. I’d be delighted,” Lynette answered. “I’m afraid I’m not up on the latest books; I don’t seem to have a great deal of time to read. What sort of book do you like? Novels?”
“I really enjoy travel books. Maybe because I haven’t had the opportunity to do so very much. One about Italy?”
At the door they said good-bye.
Brooke stood there watching as Lynette’s car went down the driveway and disappeared at the end, where the hedge hid the road. What impression had Gareth’s sister taken away with her? she wondered. How did it match what Gareth had probably told her?
Lynette made the turn onto the road back to Mayfield thoughtfully. Brooke Leslie was lovely but almost as though enclosed in glass. You could see through it enough to see a woman physically beautiful but untouched and untouchable. Her refinement was obvious. Her manners were faultless. What lay behind that gracious smile, those thoughtful eyes? Lynette hoped her brother was not on the brink of heartbreak.
chapter
10
ONE AFTERNOON GARETH came by Shadowlawn with flowers, fruit. As he was leaving, Brooke said, “Mitsuiko reminded me I have been remiss.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have been so kind to us—”
“My pleasure entirely,” Gareth interrupted.
Brooke smiled. “Let me finish. She said I should have returned your graciousness, invited you to dinner some evening.” She tilted her head to one side questioningly. “Would you like to sample Japanese cooking? I believe that is Mitsuiko’s main purpose; she would like to show off her culinary skill.”
“Why, yes, I would. Very much. Thank you.”
“You must realize this will be Mitsuiko’s treat. I confess I cannot boil the proverbial egg. I’m quite hopeless in the kitchen. It’s not something I’m proud of, it’s just the truth,” she added. “I thought you should know that.”
“In the interest of truth between friends, right?” Gareth grinned.
“Exactly,” she said, smiling. “Then shall we say next Thursday?”
That evening Gareth arrived to find Brooke dressed in a Japanese kimono of lustrous, cream-colored silk. The obi, a wide sash circling the waist, was a deep coral shade. Her hair was twisted up from her neck and secured with two long teak hair sticks.
“Mitsuiko insisted I play hostess in traditional dress.”
“I’m glad she did. You look”—Gareth faltered, wondering how to tell her how beautiful and exotic he thought she looked—“quite lovely.”
Mitsuiko had placed a low table and two pillows out on the screened-in porch. Flickering candles in glass holders set on the screen ledge cast a soft glow. As they seated themselves on opposite sides of the table, Mitsuiko began bringing in the various dishes one at a time in her quiet, smiling manner. Everything was presented arranged artistically on separate plates. Nothing was heaped on plates, as Gareth had seen bountiful Southern dinners served. Each course was almost a sample of the wide variety of Japanese delicacies—thinly sliced carrots, cucumbers, a clear soup, a main dish of tiny shrimp, mushrooms, vegetables, a narrow piece of white fish, individual bowls of rice. Cups of soy sauce were placed at the left of each place for dipping.
Although everything tasted strange and new to Gareth, he tried it all, aware that Mitsuiko was watching anxiously, and not unaware of the amusement in Brooke’s eyes. When the tea was brought at the end of the meal, Gareth praised Mitsuiko heartily. She murmured her thanks, ducking her head shyly. It was obvious she was enormously pleased that her dinner had been such a success.
“You must let me return your hospitality,” Gareth said as he prepared to leave shortly after they finished. “Not that I could match anything like this. But my sister Lynette has suggested several times that I bring you out to her house, Spring Hill.”
A shadow passed over Brooke’s face, and she said, “I hope you understand, Gareth, but I’m not going out socially just yet.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I am just passing on Lynette’s invitation. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
“I know, and I do appreciate both the thought and your understanding.”
He looked as if he were about to say more, thought better of it. Soon, thinking she looked a little tired, he said good night and left. Standing in the doorway, Brooke followed the taillights on his truck until it went around the bend in the driveway and disappeared.
Her sense of uneasiness about Gareth’s more and more evident feelings for her sharpened. She could not deny any longer that their relationship had gone beyond friendship. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, had never dreamed of such a thing. Long ago she had decided that kind of love was out of the question for her.
It was her fault, she thought, sighing. She had been lonely for so long. Then unexpectedly Gareth had come into her life. Maybe she should have stopped it before it reached this point. But she had so enjoyed his company. They had so many mutual interests—gardens, flowers, music, art. His warmth, spontaneity, was so different from some of the men she had known in a limited way before. Certainly from the Japanese men, who were so careful, reticent, secretive. Gareth was a direct contrast. He was so American, so warm, generous, open.
He had been eager to share his thoughts, talk about his feelings. In his own words, truth and trust were the main ingredients of any relationship. If they didn’t exist, nothing lasting or worthwhile could happen between two people. Remembering when he had said that, Brooke felt stricken. Truth, at least not the complete truth as far as she was concerned, had not yet been revealed. Would it be necessary?
Even as she pondered and worried a little about this, Brooke had not expected to have to face it so soon.
August came, the end of summer, with the last profusion of flowers and fruit from Avalon. Gareth came more and more often, bringing the abundance of his labor. They had known each other a little over four months.
Then one evening when they were sitting together in the lovely lavender dusk on the porch at Shadowlawn, he could no longer keep what he was feeling to himself. Before she could stop him, he had poured out his heart.
“I’ve known almost from the first that I love you, Brooke. I didn’t want to tell you. I was afraid I’d frighten you, that you would think I was too impetuous, too shallow … but I am so sure of what I feel, I had to say it. I love you.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it.
“Oh, Gareth, I’m touched—flattered really—that you should feel this way about me. But there is so much you don’t know—things that if you did know, would make you realize that what you think you want can never be.”
“Why do you say that?” he demanded. “I know all I want to know, all I need to know. I love you. Isn’t that all that matters?”
“We’ve only known each other this summer.”
“Does length of time really make that much difference? We’ve spent hours together, talked … Some people go their whole lives long and never know what we have shared in these few months.”
“Yes, but—” Brooke hesitated, then said, “Listen, Gareth,
there are things you should know about me. Things I haven’t told you. Then maybe you’ll understand. If I tell you a little about … my circumstances.” Gently she pulled her hand away, and reluctantly he released it. Then he leaned forward, ready to listen.
“I planned to become a missionary. Like my parents, whom I admired very much. I entered nurses’ training. It was—rather it proved—too rigorous for me. My health broke and I had to—” She paused. “My parents were told I might die.”
Gareth started to say something, but she put a finger on his mouth, shook her head. “Please, let me finish. I was sent to a sanitarium in the mountains, much like the Alps—snow-covered, air very clear and cold. We patients were bundled up and placed outside on lounge chairs. It was supposed to be very healing, invigorating. It was there God told me, ‘No.’” Her smile was sad. “Yes, God sometimes speaks even to someone like me. It was almost audible. I was lying out in my cot, desperate and sick, praying. I wanted to be well so I could get back to my training. And then it became very clear that was not God’s will for my life, that I would have to find some other way to serve him.”
Gareth reached for her hand again, but Brooke tucked it into the sleeve of her kimono and continued. “Months went by and I made better progress than the doctors had anticipated. However, they were very honest with me. I would never completely regain my health. I would always have to be careful; there would always be the possibility of a relapse. I couldn’t expect to live a normal life, the kind of life most women hope to have—marriage, children. That’s why you must not think of that kind of love with me, Gareth. It cannot be.”
“I don’t accept that,” Gareth said firmly. “Love is miraculous. Love has healing powers of its own. I love you, Brooke. More than anything in the world, I want us to be married. I want to take care of you. I want to make you happy, to protect you. I don’t expect anything of you. I just want us to be together. That’s all.”
“But Gareth,” Brooke gently protested, “you don’t know what that might involve. My health is unstable—I’m fine now, better, much better than when I came, but you can never really say—and I’m older than you, Gareth, by quite a few years, I imagine. I could never be a real wife, give you what you deserve—a real home, children …”
“None of that would matter if I had you,” he protested. “Don’t you see that, Brooke? Can’t you tell how much I love you?”
She shook her head sorrowfully. “Gareth, you’re so dear and impulsive, and I love you for it. I understand what you’re saying, and I know you mean it now … but have you ever heard the quotation ‘The longing of the moment seems the essential; one is apt to forget the eternity of regret’? It would break my heart, Gareth, if years from now—or even a year from now—you would regret your reckless proposal.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Never,” he declared vehemently. “This summer has been like something out of a dream—a dream I’ve had all my life, I think. One I never thought would come true.”
Brooke drew out her hand, and her fingers touched his chin. She looked deeply into his eyes and said, “The Japanese believe in fate, Gareth, and timing. If we had met earlier—perhaps. Too much of my life has gone by. For years I’ve lived as if I were an invalid. Such a different life than yours, and—”
“It doesn’t matter about the past, the disappointments, the dreams that didn’t come true—yours or mine. You’re here now and I’m here, and by some marvelous coincidence we met. Maybe that’s why you didn’t become a missionary. God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he? Maybe being a missionary was your idea, not his. Maybe we were supposed to meet, be together.”
Brooke smiled indulgently. She knew there was no use trying to persuade Gareth to accept what she felt was the truth, the impossibility of their future. But there was a wistfulness in her eyes as she looked at him, his broad shoulders, his vitality, his youthful strength. She kept silent, however, recalling the Japanese quotation “Happiness is like a butterfly, lightly resting then flying off, not to be held or grasped,” and tried to keep the moment. For now it was enough that this wonderful young man, with all his vigor, enthusiasm, loved her … for this moment. After all, that was all anyone could be sure of … this single moment in time.
chapter
11
ONCE GARETH HAD DECLARED his love, he traveled on the high road of optimism. He had total confidence that whatever obstacles stood in the way of complete fulfillment of his dream would be removed in time. His few moments of uncertainty were infrequent. When they came, it was from, of all places, an unexpected source.
He had heard the description “inscrutable Oriental,” but as he met Mitsuiko’s gaze, he had the firm conviction that she knew something. Not only about his feelings for Brooke but about something else. What? He couldn’t tell. There was something in her eyes—understanding, sympathy? Whatever it was quickly vanished when he looked at her, trying to find it out. She would quickly lower her eyes, making it impossible for him to read anything in them.
After that evening they never discussed the future again. Gareth believed his love was strong enough to overcome Brooke’s arguments. He would prove to her that his conviction was able to surmount any difficulties she could put forth. It would just take a little more time to convince her.
Little did he know he was living in a fool’s paradise while Brooke, facing the reality, was making her own plans. Time was running out.
Both of them dwelled in a subtle fantasy of never-ending time. Fragile as the fluttering butterflies among the flowers were those hours of unspoiled happiness they spent in the garden. Yet there was always the shadow of those events happening in other parts of the world. One could not completely erase the screaming headlines, the horror of what was going on in England, where the Montrose family had ties.
It was, in all respects, a bittersweet summer, a summer that came too swiftly to an end. It was time for Brooke to leave, for her and Mitsuiko to return to Japan.
On an early September day, golden with sunlight, the maple leaves just beginning to display their vivid autumn colors, Brooke knew she could delay no longer. For a week she had known but had not been able to bring herself to break the news to Gareth. Her tickets had arrived from the steamship line, her train reservations to the West Coast were confirmed, and all that was left was to tell Gareth.
It was a beautiful evening, clear and cool and full of stars, as Gareth drove to Arbordale. His heart throbbed with anticipation, longing for the evening ahead with her. In his corduroy jacket pocket was the little blue enameled brooch, set with tiny Australian crystals, he had found almost by chance. Actually, he had been searching for some sort of beautiful ring to give her as an engagement ring. He had been looking in the window of the small jewelry store in Mayfield that specialized in antique and estate jewelry and individual designs, when he spotted it. It was about one inch across. In the shape of a tiny turtle, it had reminded him of the one in her Netsuke collection. He had gone in and bought it, knowing it was just the sort of whimsical thing she would love.
As Brooke waited for Gareth to come, all the many impressions, incidents, times spent together, merged in her thoughts. It had been an idyllic summer, far more special than she had ever imagined it would be. She had planned a summer of rest, relaxation, tranquillity. She had not dreamed of love.
Brooke recalled the first time she had met Gareth Montrose. He had the air of a man equally at home in a cabin or castle. His physical presence was intense—tall, well-built, his skin healthily tanned, his hair thick, dark, wavy, his eyes clear, truth-seeking. She had felt almost overwhelmed by his strength and vitality. Now that she had come to know him, she realized he had another kind of strength, a spiritual one that was even more powerful. Gareth was pure, in a way few men are. It shone from his intensely blue eyes, it spoke in his every sentence, his every action. He was generous, kind, intelligent, unselfish. In another lifetime he would have been one of the idealistic band of King Arthur’s Round Table. She smiled at her own analogy,
knowing Gareth would be embarrassed and scoff at such a description.
She knew she had to tell him she was leaving, and the thought of doing so left her cold and a little shaky. It was even harder than she had anticipated.
Gareth reacted first with shock, then disbelief, then anger.
“But you knew I would have to … someday,” she protested gently.
“But not this soon. Not now. Not when you know I love you.”
He paced the room with long strides for a few minutes, then whirled around, came over, knelt down beside her chair, took both her thin hands in his, brought them to his lips, kissed them.
“I don’t want you to go. I can’t bear to think of your going.”
“I have to go, don’t you see that? I promised Mitsuiko’s family I would take her back with me within the year. I can’t break my promise.” She paused, then asked softly, “You wouldn’t want me to, really, would you, Gareth? A promise is a promise. Honor is everything in Japan. To break your word is about the worst thing you can do.”
Gareth, brought up as he had been with the ancient code of chivalry and the honor imbued in every Southern gentleman, shook his head slowly. He searched her face lingeringly, then said in a very low voice, “I wish I could make time stand still. Just as it is. Now. I don’t want anything ever to change.”
“But Gareth, don’t you realize nothing stays the same, not ever? The world is spinning constantly, and we’re each of us changing minute by minute. That’s what makes life—change. That’s what makes it so interesting and exciting.”
“No!” he said vehemently. “I’ve just found you, Brooke. Never before in my life have I been so sure of anything as I am that we were meant for each other.” He held up his hand to ward off any protests she might be readying. “You must marry me. We’ll get a place in the mountains. Higher elevation, better for your health. I’ll build the cabin myself. It will be rustic but will have all the amenities … and a good road so that if you need to be checked regularly by a doctor, that can be managed. The pure mountain air will equal what you told me about that place in Japan. Oh, darling Brooke, we’ll be so happy. Please just say yes. I love you and I promise to cherish, protect, and care for you all the days of my life. I can’t let you go. I won’t let you go.”