Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  “No! He’s never hit me. Not ever. He...Uncle Asa loves me. Deep down inside, he loves me. I know he does. Really.”

  Saber was unconvinced. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because when he’s sober he tries to make up for the things he says. I told you that, Saber.”

  He watched her carefully. She was winding a gold curl around her little finger, pulling the hair so tight that the tip of her finger turned white. It was obvious to him that though this Asa character acted remorseful when sober, his treatment of Goldie while drunk had left deep scars. Her very reluctance to discuss it tended to prove that fact.

  “Why won’t you talk about it, Goldie?”

  “It’s not important. Besides, other people have been meaner to me than Uncle Asa, and they weren’t even drunk. Ole Burnell Firt, down in—I can’t remember where. But ole Burnell once told me that my freckles made me look like I had a disease. And Naomi Gumm down in Gumm, Kentucky, said I had devil eyes. Said only devil people had yellow eyes. Naomi’s daddy owned the town, so she could be as mean as she wanted, and nobody ever told her to stop. And Mathilda Snodgrass, who was Naomi’s best friend, and whose mama was somehow related to one of the gardeners at the White House, said my hair looked like somethin’ a dog had been shakin’ around all day. Mathilda was a snooty sort. Probably because she had connections in the White House. So y’see? Uncle Asa’s not as mean as all that.”

  Saber saw all right. He saw her attempt at lightheartedness. He saw her fail at it, too. She was trying to make him believe that none of those insults bothered her. But didn’t she realize he could see the pain sweep into her eyes? It seemed to him her eyes would sting with it.

  He wondered what kind of silver lining she found in shouldering such pain, but chose not to ask her. She was nervous enough right now.

  “I do try to tame my hair,” Goldie assured him, reaching up to smooth back the springy curls. “But it won’t mind me. I used to wear a hat, but it blew off one day and slid down the street. By the time I caught up with it, it was the raggediest-lookin’ thing you ever saw. I asked Uncle Asa if I could have another one, but he—”

  She broke off abruptly, and Saber reached for her hand without realizing he had. When he saw her slender fingers lying within his palm, he had a thought to release them. But they were trembling again, and that decided it for him. Not only did he keep holding her hand, he grasped it more firmly.

  “Your uncle refused to buy you another hat, didn’t he, Goldie?”

  She nodded, struck mute for a moment by the gentleness she perceived in his deep and velvety voice. How it touched her. How tenderly it enfolded her senses. And how desperately she longed to respond to it! Say somethin’ witty, she told herself. Somethin’ wonderfully clever like other girls do.

  “I—Your voice—You have such a nice voice. When I hear it, it kinda makes me think of chocolate. I’ve only had hot chocolate once, but I never forgot the way it tastes. It’s thick and sweet...and rich. It’s the kind of flavor that makes you want to close your eyes while you’re tastin’ it. You have a chocolate voice, Saber.”

  Her sentiment made him smile. It was a simple compliment, but she’d spoken it with such sincerity and sweetness, he decided it was quite the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. And it was amusing, too. He had seaweed eyes and a chocolate voice. A low chuckle rose in his throat.

  Goldie heard his quiet laughter, and felt her cheeks redden. She’d told him he had a chocolate voice. A chocolate voice? Whoever heard of such a thing? That wasn’t wonderfully witty, it was dumb! Embarrassed, she began to turn away.

  Saber reached up, catching her dainty chin. Mesmerized by the golden splendor of her eyes and the delightful way her beautiful hair glistened about her tiny face, he could not take his gaze away from her. She was so delicate, this little person called Goldie. So petite that he felt certain she’d never keep her feet on the ground should she be caught in a strong wind. The thought made him want to hold her, shelter her within the circle of his arms. That something tender inside him swelled again. Without warning, the desire to kiss her seized him. Her full, pink lips looked so soft to him.

  He thought of Fred Wattle. Fred had kissed those soft lips and laughed. “Fred Wattle was an imbecile.”

  His abrupt and unrelated statement made Goldie frown. She took a moment to try and understand what had prompted Saber to say such a thing. “You don’t even know him.”

  Was she defending the blackguard? Saber wondered. Jealousy stung him. He scowled when he recognized it. He hadn’t felt it in years, but hadn’t forgotten the way it began in the pit of his belly, spread, and soon coursed through him. He clenched his jaw against it. He had no reason whatsoever to be jealous. Like Goldie had said, he didn’t even know the brainless Fred Wattle. And what did it matter that the man had kissed Goldie anyway?

  Furious at himself and his damnable emotions, he pulled his hand away from Goldie’s and stood. Gazing down at her, he realized he still felt the desire to take her into his arms. His anger at himself had done nothing to change that. God, he had to get away from her. If he didn’t... “I’m taking Yardley out for a while,” he informed her curtly.

  She rose, swiping bits of grass from her brown skirt. “And I’ll take out Dammit.”

  “No.”

  His immediate refusal to allow her to come made her ache. Only with extreme effort did she keep her voice even and normal. “Yes, of course, you’re right,” she agreed quickly. “I can’t go ridin’ now. I—Big needs help changin’ the bed sheets.”

  She turned toward the mansion and ran as fast as her legs could take her, Itchie Bon close beside her. Tears blinded her, and she stumbled on a rock. She didn’t fall, but her near-spill mortified her, for she knew Saber had seen it.

  I’m so clumsy! Just like Uncle Asa says! Her cheeks burning with shame, she flew up the steps that led to the front door. Throwing it open, she raced up the winding staircase. She missed a step and fell to her knees, clutching the railing so she wouldn’t fall further. “Chocolate voice,” she moaned, her fist at her mouth. “How could I have said somethin’ so stupid?” Choking on a sob, she fled to her bedroom. Itchie Bon barely made it into the room before the door closed with a resounding slam. Her nose pressed against it, Goldie stood there for many moments before turning around. The first thing she saw was the mirror.

  Hesitantly, she approached the big, gilt-framed looking glass. It wasn’t just a face mirror. It was nearly as tall as the wall, reflecting her full length. Full length, she thought. Full, nothing. She looked like an eleven-year-old child. Twelve, if she stood on her tiptoes. Staring at her image, she saw herself as Saber probably did.

  Her dress, patched in many places, was four years old. Or was it five? “Four, five, what difference does it make, Itchie Bon?” she said in a broken whisper. “It’s ugly. Brown. Plain, ugly brown. Stitched up and mended all over. I know it’s the ugliest thing he’s ever laid his beautiful eyes on.”

  She tore the hateful garment off, ripping it in the process. It landed on her foot; she kicked it across the room and looked back into the mirror. The sight of her nakedness made her eyes widen. Never having had such a big mirror before, she’d never seen her entire body at one time. And since arriving at Leighwood, it hadn’t occurred to her to use this one for that specific purpose. She didn’t like what she saw.

  Sniffling, she remembered her Uncle Asa once saying that Melba Potts, down in Sugar Meadows, Alabama, had breasts like ripe melons. She hadn’t understood what he meant then, but she did now. Melons were full. Round. Big. She brought her hands up to her own breasts.

  “Figs,” she murmured. “Little, unripened figs.”

  Her hands fell to her sides. She looked at her flat stomach. Her slight hips, slim legs, tiny ankles, and little feet. Turning a bit, she studied her small bottom. “Oh, Itchie Bon, there’s just nothin’ at all to me. No curves. No softness. Just skin-covered littleness. No wonder he called me a doll.”

  She walked
closer to the mirror, examined her face, and decided her eyes were too big, her nose too small. She thought she had good eyebrows, though. They arched gently above her eyes and were darker than her hair. “But men don’t fall in love with a pair of eyebrows, Itchie Bon. And they don’t like yellow eyes either.”

  Yellow eyes. Whoever heard of such a thing? And yet they were yellow. Not bright yellow like dandelions, but they were yellow. “Big says they’re gold with flecks of warm brown, but whoever heard of brown-speckled gold eyes either? Oh, why couldn’t I have blue eyes? Not plain blue, but sky-blue. The kind Ruthie Applegate, down in Smallville, North Carolina, had? And Ruthie knew just how to use those robin’s-egg eyes of hers, too, Itchie Bon. She batted ’em, and flitted ’em from spot to spot. She could even make ’em change color. Dependin’ on her mood, they’d go from pale and shimmery to dark and smoky. Boys loved Ruthie’s eyes.

  “They made fun of mine,” she squeaked. “One boy even made up a chant about ’em. It went, ‘Yellow eyes, yellow eyes, Goldie’s ugly no matter what she tries.’ “

  More tears welled, blurring her mirrored image. She rubbed them away, then stared at her hair. It had grass in it. A small leaf, too. Her hair was like a net. It caught everything flying around in the air, and those things stayed there until she found and pulled them out. Now, if something flew into normal hair—the long, smooth, and silky kind—it slipped out right away.

  “Once a bee got into mine,” she informed her mongrel, who sat wagging his tail at her. “It was buzzin’ all around, tryin’ to get free, but it was trapped. I knew it would sting me if I pulled it out, so I put my head in a bucket of water and tried to drown it first. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t kill it, Itchie Bon, and it did sting me when I finally pulled it out. All the kids...they thought it was so funny.”

  She pulled on a ringlet. When she let it go, it sprang right back into a tight little coil. “If Saber were to try and run his fingers through this wild mess, his hand would get stuck for sure,” she mumbled.

  Angrily, she made two braids, each beginning directly above her ears. But her hair was so thick, so untamable, the braids wouldn’t lay down. They stuck straight out on either side, as if she’d been shot through the head with a gold arrow. If Saber saw her like this, she knew he’d have every right to laugh, just as all other boys she’d ever known had done.

  “But Saber,” she whispered achingly, still staring at her reflection, “isn’t a boy, Itchie Bon. He’s a man. He’s big and...and real solid with muscles. Y’know, I bet one of his legs weighs more than my whole body. And he probably likes girls who come up to his chin. The way Velma Wiggins’ came up to Fred’s. I barely come up to Saber’s chest. Hell, if I were just a tad shorter than I already am, my nose would just about fit into his belly button.”

  She loosened her braids and felt suddenly weary, her despondency weighing her down. Her chin on her chest, she turned and shuffled to the bed, dragging her toes across the carpet as she walked. Set on a dais, the bed was so high, she could hardly get her knee on the mattress. Grabbing hold of the bedpost, she began to pull herself up, a feat she had to perform every time she got into the big princess bed. But she didn’t realize she also had hold of the lace canopy. It loosened from its attachments on the four posts.

  Like a thick, languid snowfall, it floated down just as she’d settled herself in the middle of the bed. Dismayed, Goldie watched it gently wafting toward her. “Great day Miss Agnes, Itchie Bon, I broke the bed.”

  Well, there was little she could do about it, she sighed. She wasn’t tall enough to reach the tops of the posts and therefore could not reattach the canopy. Wondering if Saber was going to get even angrier at her than he already was, she closed her eyes against both her distress and the sight of the pearly material drifting downward. When the delicate fabric settled over her, she realized she should get up and fold it so it wouldn’t wrinkle. But she couldn’t make herself do it. The lace felt so lovely upon her bare skin. It touched her all over, yet barely at all. She’d never felt anything so sheer and fragile against her body.

  And she never would again, she remembered. Lace and princess beds, gold-framed mirrors...and tall, dark-haired, handsome men...they were the stuff of dreams. And like dreams, she could have and enjoy them for a while, but then she’d wake up and they’d be gone. It’d had been like that with every dream she’d ever had.

  She sighed, her puff of breath moving the lace that covered her mouth. “Self-pity doesn’t do much but make you feel worse, and I don’t usually feel so sorry for myself, Itchie Bon,” she informed the gray dog, who was still wagging his tail for her. “But then, I’ve never met anyone like Saber. Not even Fred Wattle made me feel the way I do with him. When he gets that softness in his eyes—Itchie Bon, it makes me feel all wobbly. My stomach sorta sinks. I can’t swallow. No, ole Fred Wattle, as handsome as he was, never took my swallowin’ away from me.”

  She curled into a tight ball, the lace still covering her. “It’s no use, Itchie Bon. Even though Big’s gonna help me with the romance, there is no romance. I’m foolin’ myself, dreamin’ of Saber. I’m settin’ myself up for heartache, just like I did with Fred. I’m likin’ him more and more every day. I try to see him just as the man who’s gonna help me get out of the mess Uncle Asa got us into, but y’see, my heart and my mind, they aren’t workin’ together on this. I know from experience nothin’s gonna happen between us, but deep down I keep hopin’ that maybe this time it’ll be different. That maybe this time...

  “He held me last night,” she remembered aloud. “And kissed my wrist. Oh, Itchie Bon, you just can’t know what that felt like. His body’s so big, so warm, so strong. He smells so good. His lips were like dandelion puffs on my wrists. They touched me, but hardly at all. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh from the tickle, or faint dead away from the pleasure. And today he held my hand. But then—Then he didn’t want to go ridin’ with me. He even acted sorta mad.”

  Staring through the lace at the beautiful room, she tried to think of what good thing was coming from her heartache. It was a very long time before she thought of one. “A warnin’,” she mumbled, her voice edged with sorrow. “A warnin’ that nice things—They just aren’t for me. I better guard my heart before it breaks, just like Big said, Itchie Bon.”

  She swallowed hard. “I gotta hurry up with all these duke lessons, boy. Then I’ll get Saber to London. We’ll—Lord, I still haven’t told him about goin’ to London, so he thinks we’re leavin’ for Hallensham from here. I wonder if he’ll mind spyin’ on dukes? He didn’t want to wheeze or do the wiggle walk, so he probably won’t want to do any duke-spyin’ either. Wonder how I should bring up the idea without him gettin’ mad about it?”

  She could come up with no ready answer, but felt sure she would soon. “And then from London,” she continued softly, “we’ll hurry on to Hallensham. The sooner he’s done playin’ Duke Marion in the village, the sooner he’ll be gone, and...and the sooner my heart will be safe from breakin’.”

  She lapsed into deep thought. Yawning, she closed her eyes again. “I wonder what he’s thinkin’ about,” she whispered groggily, “Wonder if he’s still mad at me. Saber. Saber.”

  When slumber claimed her, his name still lingered on her lips, and his image drifted into her dreams.

  * * *

  Saber stormed into the house. His three-hour ride through the country had done nothing at all to keep his mind off Goldie. On the contrary, he’d thought of nothing but her since galloping out of the barn.

  He’d hurt her feelings, and that fact made him feel sick. “Goldie!” he called, frustrated when she didn’t answer immediately. Blast it all, why didn’t she come when he called her? “Goldie!”

  Big emerged from the parlor. “What are you yelling—”

  “Have you seen Goldie?”

  Big snorted. “No, and I think you can change your own sheets from now on. I’m not a slave, you know.”

  “So she didn’t help you chan
ge them.” He’d suspected as much.

  “No, she didn’t, and she’s not a slave either.”

  Saber frowned, throwing back his shoulders. He was in no mood to fence with the churlish little man. “Big, I’m well aware that you have taken it upon yourself to do all the cleaning and cooking, but I do not find it necessary. There are many women in the nearby village who could—”

  “Goldie said you didn’t have any money. Without money, you can’t even buy food! The only reasons we won’t starve soon are because the pantry is well-stocked and I’m a good aim with a gun. Now, how could you pay those women to come up here and work?”

  “I—” Saber broke off. He was supposed to be Addison’s needy cousin, he recalled. Too, he remembered that the villagers knew who he was.

  At the dismay in Saber’s eyes, Big softened. “Saber, being poor isn’t anything to be ashamed of. You ought to count your blessings. Your cousin Addison is a generous man. He’s the one who had the pantry filled this morning. He went to that little village and had all the food brought up here. I appreciate your offer about having the women come, but I’ll do the cooking and the cleaning. You and Goldie have a lot of work to do, and you must complete it quickly. Goldie and I have to get back to Hallensham. Asa—Lord, there’s no telling what that man has done in our absence. Anyway, you and Goldie have no time for anything but the duke lessons, so leave everything else to me. I won’t like the work,” he added firmly, “but I’ll do it. I’ll even change your sheets.”

  Saber felt suddenly humbled, realizing that beneath Big’s surly exterior, there existed a kind and understanding man. “Thank you,” he said, thinking about how odd that sounded. He’d never before thanked anyone for serving him. It wasn’t necessary. Servants did their duties, received their wages, and that was that.

  But Big was gaining nothing at all in reward for his servitude. He was doing it out of love for Goldie. The thought made Saber realize that Big could very well be the key to understanding more about her. “Big,” he began cautiously, searching for just the right words, “I—I’ve noticed Goldie’s penchant for sudden sadness. She—”