“Right.” His eyes took on a little-boy-at-Christmas glow. “What if there’s much more here than meets the eye?”
“What do you mean?”
“The chords and the melody work together to create a pattern of letters. The melody keeps to the basic A through G letters, except for a little German note-lettering trick, and then the chords create the rest of the alphabet to…” He drew in a deep breath, building anticipation. “To create a secret message.”
She stopped chewing and lowered her brioche. Perhaps sweet Henry had been working with movies too long. “A secret message?”
“See here, I’ve written out beneath each chord the letter it represents.” He slid closer to her to share the paper, his vanilla scent mingling with the brioche for a heavenly combination. What would vanilla cream taste like on a brioche?
“The letters make out a message, but only if you look at both the melody and chord lines together.”
She pulled her thoughts from imagining how vanilla might taste in just about everything—hot chocolate, strawberry muffins, spinach quiche— and focused on the words on the page.
GERMANS ARRIVE AT OMAHA BEACH IN TWO WEEKS. FOUR DEAD AT CAFÉ MEETING PLACE. AGENTS AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS IN PARIS AT THE BLUE HAVEN INN.
Her brioche nearly stuck in her throat. “This…this is—”
“A coded message. Yes. A logical find, since we’ve surmised that Lucas was a spy.”
“But…this is a secret message.” She blinked from the page to him.
His grin spread from one cheek to the other, like he wanted to laugh. “Yes. It is.”
“And this is how he sent his messages,” Julia whispered, rereading the note. “But…but this note is against the Germans, which would mean Lucas was a spy for the Allies.”
“Yes.”
She relaxed back into her chair. Oh, praise God! “He wasn’t a traitor after all.”
“Exactly.” With a gentle touch he handed her more sheets, his voice nearly shaking with excitement. “Here are a few of the others I’ve decoded.”
PILOTS DOWNED NEAR BORDEAUX. GERMAN BATTALION NORTH OF CITY. TOOK FIRE. PILOTS RESCUED. BATTALION MOVED NORTHEAST TO SURPRISE ATTACK FRENCH.
“Oh my goodness.”
“It’s remarkable,” Henry said, almost breathless, eyes glowing. “Here’s another.”
U-BOATS PATROLLING BY SOUTHERN COAST. ENEMY NOTED ON SHORE. DO NOT TRUST LAWRENCE MADDEN. HE HAS TURNED.
Julia looked through them, one message after another proving Lucas’s allegiance to the Allies. She breathed out a sigh at her aunt’s connection to this man. He hadn’t been a rogue at all. He’d been a hero.
“But why keep these if they were meant for British Intelligence?”
“It’s my guess these were unfinished copies. The smallest mistake could have given the wrong message. Your aunt kept the drafts, so to speak—whether as a memento to her husband, a safety precaution, or something else, we cannot know.”
Julia looked from one sheet to the next, Emmeline Sterling’s name appearing at the top of many of them. An idea emerged through the fog of this discovery.
“Could Emmeline Sterling have been Lucas’s contact? Maybe the person who reported their notes to Intelligence to be decoded?”
Henry reexamined the papers, his chestnut hair falling over his brow as he nodded. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? Lucas must have been an excellent spy to obtain so much information over”— he examined the papers— “a year? Maybe two.”
“And Aunt Millie knew about it all.” Julia brought the tea kettle to the table and filled their cups, stifling a yawn as she did. What an untold story. “What must it have felt like to hide such a secret?”
He met her gaze. “Weighty enough to go into hiding?”
“In a remote part of Appalachia where no one would find her.”
“To protect their child.”
Julia pressed her hand against her stomach and sank back into her chair. “Because if someone found out Lucas was a spy and connected Aunt Millie to him, then she and the baby would be in danger.”
“Exactly. So the only way to ensure their safety was to disappear.”
“And be separated from her husband forever.” The aching realization of the depths of her aunt’s loss weighed heavy in Julia’s heart. All those years, longing for a love she’d never see again. All that time, lost. Julia rubbed at her burning eyes and leaned her chin on her braided hands, searching Henry’s face. “But what happened to Lucas?”
Henry scanned the papers. “I don’t know. The last note I’ve found is from June 1945. Nothing after.”
“Rosalyn was born in September 1944. Do you think…do you think Lucas ever saw his daughter?” The idea hollowed out her chest. To have and love a child you never met?
Henry paused sifting through the papers and finally took a sip of his tea, the compassion in his eyes nearly bringing tears to hers. Why was she suddenly so emotional?
“I think we’ve had enough adventure for tonight. What do you say?”
“But we haven’t finished our tea.” She caught another yawn in her palm.
“We’ll make up another pot tomorrow.” He helped her up, keeping his hands on her arms even after she stood. “For now, I believe you and your little one need rest.”
He was so close, his touch sending wonderful awareness up her arms and across her shoulders to her neck. Her body gravitated toward him. His palm slipped to her cheek, but when his gaze dropped to her lips, the welcome warmth of his touch took a sinister turn, curling into a panic.
Her breath stalled…and she couldn’t catch it. She pressed a palm to her chest, willing air into her lungs. Her stomach roiled with a surprising bout of nausea as she backed away from him. She turned away from him, her eyes stinging, and pressed her hands against the nearby counter.
“I…I’m sorry, Julia. You had a piece of cream on your chin, is all.”
Oh, sweet Henry. He had no idea.
She raised a palm to stop his words, wrestling the panic into submission. One breath in, one breath out. She wiped a tear from her cheek with a trembling hand and turned back to face Henry. His wounded expression tore at her heart. How could she fix this?
Communicate. Yes. The awareness gave her strength to meet the powerful emotions head-on. To try.
“I’m sorry, Henry.” She wiped away another tear. “I…I felt a sudden rush of panic at your touch that…that I can’t really explain.”
He took a step back.
“No, please, it’s not you. My counselor told me there might be times where a touch or situation might trigger an unsavory memory or unexpected fear.”
“Because of what happened to you?”
She nodded, searching for words to explain. “For…for me, it seems to be more of a feeling of terror than a memory, but I don’t want you to ever think it’s you.” She slid a step closer to him, trying to regain the sweet connection they’d enjoyed only seconds before. “It’s a sudden fear that seems to have no rhyme or reason.” In and out, in and out. She controlled the movement and shifted another step. “Dr. Owensby said that time, communication, and”—she searched his face, beckoning him to hear her— “patience would help these episodes disappear. They…they shouldn’t last forever.”
He slid another step back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know, and I don’t want to hurt you, either.” She held his gaze, stepping forward, holding the internal trembling at bay. “And I don’t want you to stop…to stop trying. If you’re willing to…to be patient with me.”
He tilted his head, watching her, weighing whether his next movement would send her away again, she guessed. “You know I’m willing.”
Her breath escaped on a little sob of relief. “I know this isn’t typical, and it’s not going to be easy, but…” With a tremulous breath, she stepped within his circle of touch, fighting against the claws gnawing in her chest for her retreat. “I…care about you.”
A loose strand of hair fell from its spot and
blocked part of her vision. Henry raised his hand, almost as if to brush it away, but then let his arm drop back to his side.
No, she could meet him halfway. She was prepared now. Without breaking eye contact, she took his hand and slowly brought it to her face, her breath still shallow but her heart determined. He froze, gaze taking in her face, gauging her status as if she might break. Her pulse slowed, resting in his gentleness, his patience. She offered him a reassuring smile, her eyelids dropping closed, as she adjusted to— even appreciated his touch.
There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.
Her thoughts paused on the revelation. Could Henry love her, his tenderness piercing through her fear? Was that even possible in such a short period of time?
She opened her eyes, tears blurring her vision, and reached up to cover his hand on her cheek, holding his warmth there.
“I know fear,” he whispered. “My whole life has been a study of anxiety, it seems, but I’ve become braver since knowing you.”
She braided her fingers over his. “Braver? How do you mean?”
“Seeing you face your circumstances with such…courage and hope,” He looked away, his brow crinkled as a small hint of red rose into his cheeks. “It makes me want to become a man worthy of you.”
Her breath caught for a whole new reason. Love? A tear slipped free and warmed a trail down her cheek, but his thumb slipped over to catch it, cradling her face with such care. Almost hesitantly, he released his hold of her and stepped back. “I’ll wash up.”
His words shook her from the daze. “What?”
He collected the cups on the table. “I’ll wash up. You go rest.”
“Oh goodness, Henry, that’s very sweet of you” She tugged at a cup in his hands, but he refused to budge. Her eyes narrowed. “But I am quite capable of cleaning up”
“I have no doubt, but it’s my turn.”
The cup kept a tug-of-war between them. “You really don’t—”
“Julia.” Her name rasped low, weighed with tenderness, stopped her argument. He slipped her fingers free from the cup. “It’s all right to allow someone to take care of you. In fact, it may even be a distinct…pleasure for some.”
Tears gathered in her throat. He wanted to serve her? Care for her? She had no words.
Without thinking, she rocked up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, allowing the warmth in his scent, the strength in his kindness, to combat the fear resurfacing through her chest. “Thank you, Henry.” She slipped from his side to the door but turned just before leaving.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, a teacup in both hands and a look of sweet surprise on his face. She’d kissed him. True, it was only on the cheek, but that simple breach somehow gave her courage for the next time. And she wanted there to be a next time. “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty
J ulia was going to England in June.
She couldn’t tame her grin as she went through another of box of Aunt Millie’s things, which she’d brought back with her to her apartment. Cute shoes. And vintage clothes. Even more reasons to giggle like a school girl.
During her and Henry’s lunch date with Eisley and Wes, the happily engaged couple shared the news of a ritzy engagement party at Wes’s family’s estate house in Derbyshire so the Harrison’s friends and family could celebrate with the couple. And…they’d invited anyone from the Jenkins family who could make the trip.
In June! Julia gave a little squeal.
Surely she could travel with a two-month old, right? And she’d get the chance to meet Wes’s family who Eisley claimed were fabulous. And, possibly best of all, she’d get to see Henry’s world. His home. His beloved Matlock and Derbyshire. Take the opportunity to discover how this whole relationship might work from England to Pleasant Gap.
She’d have given a little excited jump if she weren’t afraid of pulling a muscle in her extended abdomen.
Was it ridiculous for a pregnant woman to feel like a lovestruck school girl? Maybe it was because she’d been so wounded, so…alone, that Henry’s gentleness and care offered a hope she’d not expected coming her way for a very long time.
And how could his tenderness not draw her to him? Maybe even make her a little braver than she’d be on her own?
It wasn’t until after the bakery had closed that she heard the faint strains of piano music floating up the stairway, begging her to investigate. He must have returned from his visit with Lark Spencer after his day at the movie site.
She slipped down the steps, her palm resting on her stomach—a new habit she’d taken on over the past few weeks. The little one seemed to sense her anticipation, rolling against her palm, encouraging her forward.
The song Henry played reverberated through the rooms, a melody mixing anticipation and mystery, but also something else—a vast sort of sound, as if she stood on a precipice and looked out onto a forever horizon.
She peeked around the doorframe into the music room to find him exactly where she thought he’d be, but his appearance inspired her grin. The endearing mad professor look was back—hair sticking up in all directions, a somewhat crinkled, open-collar shirt, and an intense expression. His less groomed appearance teased her thoughts in unexpected directions, and the music only seemed to encourage them.
Drawing her to him.
The music rumbled into an approaching storm of chords and glissandos—building, battling, bringing thunder, taking her through the tempest—but just as quickly treble birdsong broke through the storm and the melody gentled to a calm after the storm. His skillful playing wove a spell over her, reaching into her spirit and transporting her to a place she couldn’t quite define. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the doorframe, allowing chords and strains to weave a magical setting of beauty and…peace. Almost like a prayer.
As the hum of the melody settled into a sweet silence, she opened her eyes to find Henry watching her, his smile soft as if he knew his playing left a lingering redolence.
“Did you write that?”
“Yes.”
She stepped into the room. “For Wes’s movie?”
“I believe it’s going to be a particularly important scene of spiritual understanding for the hero, on a rock outcropping overlooking a view of your mountains.”
She pressed a palm to her chest. “I could feel it. It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve enjoyed creating it.” He gathered his sheet music and stood. “Would you care to play? I was finishing up here.”
“Actually, I could listen to you all night.” She rubbed her stomach. “And so could Little One. As soon as he heard your playing, dancing ensued.”
A look of unhindered fascination brought Henry closer. “Really?”
“It certainly felt that way.” The baby kicked, then did some sort of roll. “Oh, see, right here.”
Without thinking, she grabbed Henry’s hand and placed it on her stomach just as the baby performed something akin to a somersault.
His eyes widened and he alternated his attention between her stomach and her face. “I felt it.” Air burst from him like a laugh. “What about that!”
The baby proceeded to show off, pressing a pointier body part against her belly so that her skin protruded. Henry’s changing expressions of fascination kept her doing crazy things like allowing him to move his palms over her extended belly without one thought to the oddness of it all.
“Does it hurt?”
She rubbed her fingers against the side of her stomach where the tension pressed with added force. “Not usually, but sometimes the baby can get into a position that’s really uncomfortable for me.”
Another kick hit Henry directly in the palm. He laughed. “That was hard.”
“I think he wants out.”
“Are you ready to meet the world, little one?” He bent forward ever so slightly, gaze on her stomach, voice soft. “We’ll play more music for you, duck.”
We? Duck? The gentle curl of his words, the
endearment, spoken in his beautiful accent to her baby, nearly melted her to the rug. She stared at the top of his head of erratic hair, a rush of tenderness sweeping over her. Could God…would God do something this…beautiful for her?
“You just called my baby a duck.”
He looked up at her, one brow rising to her challenge. “In my culture, that’s a term of sweetest affection.”
“And what about the term dove?” No, she hadn’t forgotten him calling her that.
He stood, his eyes searching hers, his face growing ever closer. “It’s not quite as common for babies, I don’t think.”
Her breath grew faint, and she waited for him to bridge the gap between them, half hopeful, half…uncertain. “And who would you commonly call dove as a term of endearment?”
He hesitated, then inched closer. “The woman who holds my heart.” His voice, cello-soft, swooped low and took her breath with it. She placed a palm to his chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears, and held his gaze. She hadn’t kissed anyone since—
Every thought faded to black and her insides began a fight-or-flight ascension. Please, oh please, no. His hands slipped from her stomach to encircle her waist, warm against the small of her back, but when his gaze dropped to her lips, the panic rose like claws closing around her throat. No, no. Lord, help me.
His arms transformed into shackles, his closeness trapping her escape. She fisted her hand at his chest, battling the inner monster. Her mind knew the truth, saw the tenderness in his expression, but her heart pulsed a frantic retreat. She pushed against his chest, tears flooding her vision. With a wounded whimper, she broke free from his hold. “I’m…I’m sorry. I…I can’t. I’m so sorry.”
His own breaths rushed out in spurts, then he studied her witg an unreadable expression, his eyes voicing the questions he restrained. Silence pierced a distance between them that her heart didn’t want but her body needed.
With nothing but a nod in her direction, he turned and left the room.
She blinked at the sting in the suddenly empty room, the silence moving through her to leave an emptier pit in her stomach. After the sweet moment they’d shared over the baby, her stupid anxiety ruined everything. Tears invaded every corner of her sight, and her breath became uneven for a new reason.
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 19
