“You wouldn’t!” Elise slapped the table in front of her.
“Actually it’s a military academy.”
“Sloane!”
“How about a private coed Quaker school that concentrates on small classes and individual learning?”
Elise smiled and relaxed. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Convince my son, then.”
“Don’t you want to go, Clay?” she asked, turning back to the teenager who was rummaging through the picnic basket approvingly.
“I don’t know.”
Elise recognized the boy’s answer for what it was. An attempt to avoid telling the truth. Pretending indecision was better than saying yes when he didn’t mean it and not as good as saying no. As much as she wanted to ease the strain between father and son by getting them to talk to one another she decided not to push. “Well, I know a certain man—a man who is sitting at this table in fact—who would have loved to go to a school like that at your age. Correct?” she asked Sloane.
“At Clay’s age I didn’t know such a place existed. But yes, I would have loved it. I think Clay will, too. If not, we’ll find something he likes better.”
Clay abandoned the basket and faced his father. “Really?”
“Really. Did you think I was going to stick you somewhere and leave you? You’ll be living at home; we’ll talk. If you hate it you can tell me.”
“And you’d listen?” Clay sounded as if he wanted to make sure he understood.
“Don’t I listen now?”
Father and son were staring at each other. Elise wanted to disappear under the table and leave them alone. All she could do was remain perfectly still.
“I don’t know if you listen because I don’t say much,” Clay said finally. Then he turned to leave the kitchen. “I’m going to call Amy and tell her we’ll be over in a few minutes.” He was gone before Sloane could say another word.
The Inn had endured its yearly sprucing up for the Festival of the Miracle. The grounds were as neat as the proverbial pin with all the shrubs trimmed to immaculate perfection and each blade of grass trimmed to identical heights. Summer annuals bordered the Inn’s front porch and hanging baskets of shocking-pink petunias and lilac lantana decorated the rafters. Even the Spanish moss on the trees seemed to have been arranged in lacier designs.
Church groups and local entrepreneurs had set up booths and tables all over the grounds. Behind the Inn where the long yard sloped down to the Wehachee, blankets were spread and family groups sat at makeshift picnic tables enjoying the late spring sunshine.
The temperature was a not-so-subtle reminder of the blistering heat that would follow in the months to come, but everyone had dressed accordingly in shorts and cool summer dresses. The air was redolent with the smells of spring and coconut sunscreen.
Elise and Sloane, followed in the distance by Amy and Clay, spread two quilts side by side and began to unpack the picnic basket. Sloane inventoried out loud as he set the food on the quilt. “Deviled eggs. Chicken sandwiches. Celery stuffed with cream cheese. Brie. Brie from France? The Piggly Wiggly is carrying imported cheeses these days?”
“I bought it in Ocala. Keep going. I’m starving.”
“Homemade bread.” he sniffed the bread. “Raisin bread.” He looked up and grinned. “How much is at home in your freezer?”
“Six loaves. That’s why we’re having chicken sandwiches. I had to take out two chickens to make room fork.”
“You have to cut all of Clay’s recipes in half.”
“I did.” She pushed him playfully to one side and finished unpacking the basket herself. “Marinated mushrooms. Artichoke salad. And,” she waved the last item in front of Sloane’s nose, “fresh blackberries.”
“My sweet little yuppie Florida cracker,” Sloane crooned, punctuating with a big kiss. “You can pack a picnic for me anytime.”
“Just remember to order well in advance so I can drive into Ocala.” She picked up a stalk of celery and stuck it in Sloane’s mouth. “Do you know how many people just saw you kiss me?”
Sloane crunched on the celery thoughtfully. “What happens if I do it again?”
“They’ll read the banns next Sunday at church.”
“Everyone knows we’re sleeping together.”
“Everyone suspects,” she corrected him. “They’re just looking for a shred of firm evidence.”
“Has anyone said anything to you?”
Actually she had been inundated with tactless queries, but Elise didn’t want to burden him. She had become adept at evading questions. She would evade this one, too. “Well, sure. Mrs. Barlow said hello this morning, and Marion, the cashier at the grocery store, asked me how I was when I bought mayonnaise for the sandwiches.”
“Is your job in jeopardy?” Sloane asked, cutting through to the heart of the matter.
“No.”
“You could find a job in Boston.”
Elise met his eyes. “I could find a job anywhere.”
“Do you want to leave this place?”
Elise had no idea why Sloane had asked the question. A part of her leapt in hope that it was his way of asking her to go with him. Another part drowned in despair because the question seemed so casual. He might as well have asked her to pass another piece of celery.
“Sometimes leaving here is the only thing on my mind,” she said carefully. “And sometimes I realize I’m lucky to live somewhere where I’m held in high esteem. Teachers in big cities are just part of the scenery. In a town like this one, we’re part of people’s lives.”
He seemed content with her answer. “I could never live here. Even now, with my departure right around the corner, I feel so constrained and hemmed in that I think I’m going to explode.”
She felt pain at his words. “I haven’t sensed that.”
“Because I don’t feel it when I’m with you,” he said. “I’ve never felt it with you. I’m going to miss you, Lise.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.” More than you could ever imagine, she thought as she leaned over for the second forbidden kiss. Probably more than she could imagine herself.
A few minutes later Clay and Amy joined them and the afternoon became the makings of a bittersweet memory. They took the time remaining to them and colored it with laughter and kisses and poignant conversation.
After stuffing themselves with Elise’s picnic, they strolled to the front of the Inn and visited the festively decorated booths. Elise and Amy had their fortunes told, and although Clay and Sloane laughed at them, the two males were discovered a few minutes later gambling all their spare change on a balloon-busting dart-throwing contest. They drank fresh lemonade, cakewalked and applauded Amy, who was brave enough to have a glittering butterfly painted on her cheek. They watched little girls in lipstick and tutus perform a ballet to the music of Swan Lake and little boys in green derbies tap-dance to “The Sidewalks of New York.” Afterward, they sat on the riverbank with a crowd of others and fished from numbered cane poles to try and land the largest catch of the day.
No fish, three volleyball games and four hot dogs later, they stood on the riverbank and watched the sun disappear behind the bald cypress, tupelo and water oak that lined the Wehachee. Frogs in the thick underbrush of cabbage palm and button bush began a symphony and a screech owl joined in with its mournful wail. The night was damp and velvet dark before they gathered their quilts and headed back to Sloane’s car.
“Now to see the maiden,” he said. “We have plenty of time. Would you like to go home first?”
“I’d like to change out of these shorts,” Elise admitted. “It’ll be chilly by midnight.”
“Can you drop Amy and me at the springs?” Clay asked. “We told some people we’d meet them there.”
At the springs Elise watched Clay slide out of the back seat and extend his hand to Amy. Amy took it as naturally as if she’d always held it. They were more than teenagers in love. They were kindred spirits. There was so little of the moody, ex
hilarating highs and debilitating lows of young love in their relationship. They were enchanted with each other, obviously emotional in their responses, but there was a steady quality, a certainty about their feelings that set them apart.
“Clay and Amy are going to feel like they’ve each been torn in half when Clay leaves,” she observed, her head back against the seat of Sloane’s car as he drove to her house.
“For once I’ll understand exactly how Clay feels.”
“And I’ll be able to sympathize with Amy. I’ll remember just how it felt.” She didn’t add that she’d be feeling the same way again. It was part of the bargain she had made with herself and, unconsciously, with Sloane. She had no right to make him feel guilty about leaving. She would not tell him how devastated she would feel when he walked away for the last time. Telling him would serve no purpose; it would only spoil their last days together.
Minutes later they were alone in her front hallway. “Do you mind if I help you change?” he asked, his hands already laying claim to her body in a way that announced that he expected no resistance.
Even as a lustful teenager, Sloane couldn’t remember being this insatiable. He always wanted Elise. He could make love to her, fill his body with the total peace that comes after good sex, and then an hour later—alone in his own bed—he would begin to crave the feel and smell and taste of her all over again. His fingers would tingle with the urge to stroke her smooth tanned skin and feel it heat with her response. He wanted to smell her subtly exotic perfume of orange blossoms and jasmine, the fragrance of a hot Florida night.
He would lie in his bed and try to remember the little noises she made when he touched her, the sighs, the moans, the words of love she’d murmur. But it was never enough. Not nearly enough. Sloane knew it never would be. When he left Miracle Springs, his longing was going to explode within him. She was staying behind; he was leaving. It was inevitable, as inevitable as the calm, sure flow of the Wehachee. If he asked Elise to come with him, history would repeat itself. In seventeen years, neither of them had changed enough to challenge fate.
Away from everything she knew, she would be like a bird raised in captivity set free to roam the skies. She would be stricken with fear, unable to fly in strange territory. Eventually her freedom would be her undoing. She would long for her cage, perishing without it, and she would never know the joys of the new gift she had been given.
But oh, how he wanted it to be different.
“Sloane? You asked me a question, I answered it and you’ve been staring at me ever since.” Elise frowned and stood on tiptoe to wipe parallel vertical lines from his forehead.
He pulled her close in a bone-crushing hug, and he knew that if his life depended on letting her go at that moment, that he could not. He held her and felt his eyes fill with tears. He never cried.
“Sloane?” Her arms crept hesitantly around his waist. She could feel him tremble with emotion. “What’s wrong?”
He swallowed hard, banishing the moisture from his eyes. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want to leave Miracle Springs without her. He wanted to ask her to come. But he couldn’t do that to either of them. He would not watch what they had together die in new surroundings. Instead he told her only a tiny part of the truth. “I was just thinking how lucky we’ve been. You’ve given me more happiness in these months together than most people get in a lifetime. I’ll never forget them.”
“Don’t forget me,” she whispered. “Don’t ever forget me. Promise me that much.”
“I won’t forget you. I couldn’t, not even if I wanted to.”
He picked her up and carried her to the sofa. Their clothes were abandoned and their movements were, too. They made love, completely aware of each other as they searched for the response they needed to make the act of love perfect. It was a long time before they dressed again and walked in silence to the springs.
The springs was silent, too. The same boisterous crowd who had romped and laughed at the Inn’s festivities had settled on every square foot of sand of the beach. There were only the hushed tones of an occasional voice to augment the sounds of a star-filled Florida night. Sloane and Elise found Amy and Clay near the water’s edge, and they joined them on their quilt.
Now was the time of meditation, of crystallizing wishes until—if the maiden appeared—the wish would be so clear it could be granted. Now was also the time of searching hearts for purity. No one on the tourist commission had ever defined exactly what a pure heart was, but each person on the beach had his or her own understanding of what that meant. Even those who had come to scoff fell into the mood of contemplation and wondered what their greatest heart’s desire was and what they had done that year to prevent it from being realized.
There were already mists rising from the water. The temperature was now cool enough to scare away mosquitoes, and the air hummed only with expectations, crickets and frogs. Elise leaned against Sloane and closed her eyes. She had no idea if she qualified as having a pure heart. She knew she had tried to live up to her own beliefs. Finally, after much thought, it wasn’t her own purity she questioned, but her wish. Like the cowardly lion in a different fable, she wished for the courage she knew she didn’t have. She wished for the words to tell Sloane her feelings. She wished she could ask him if she could come with him. She wished for the fortitude to withstand his inevitable answer, his apologies, his sympathy. She wished that just this once—even knowing she was doomed to failure—she would reach out for what she wanted most in the world. And when that effort was unsuccessful—as she knew it would be—she wished she might gather the courage to leave Miracle Springs anyway, to begin a life somewhere else, a life rich in possibility and growth.
Sloane felt Elise sigh, and he tightened his arm around her. He wondered what she wished for. Was it the impossible? Did she fantasize that life could go on always as it had in the last incredible months? If she did, it was close to his own deepest wish. But Sloane knew better than to put his faith in Indian maidens and tourist commissions. His wish tonight would be simpler and entirely plausible. He would wish that his parting with Elise would be quick and as painless for both of them as possible. He would take nothing of her back to New England, and his wish was that she would keep nothing of him here with her.
Amy stroked Clay’s hair. He had pillowed his head in her lap and the sensation was intimate and very special. Their parting lay before her, and it was all she could think of as she waited restlessly for the Indian maiden to appear. It wasn’t fair. Clay had come unexpectedly into her life, and soon he would be gone. She would stay behind in a town that now seemed filled with restrictions. Her wish was simple. She wished that the years would pass quickly and that someday she would find Clay again as an adult, free to live the life she chose.
Clay absorbed the pleasures of Amy’s hand stroking his hair. When she touched him he could feel the effect all over his body, and he wondered what it would be like to feel all of her against him. The forbidden thought shot through him, translated into sensation. Someday he would be an adult. If he had any wish at all it was that when that day arrived, somehow Amy would be there to share his life with him.
Amy bent her head and put her mouth to his ear. “You’d better sit up or you won’t see anything.”
He did so reluctantly. They sat holding hands and watching the wisps of mist play over the water of the springs. The sliver of moon disappeared behind a cloud, and the frogs quieted until the sound that was dominant was the whisper of trees at the water’s edge as a breeze stirred from the south. The mists danced, scampering over the water like small children. They formed and reformed, tantalizing the people on the beach with their antics. Near the island the mists gathered, covering and obscuring the palmetto and cypress knees until the island itself was wreathed in vapor and seemed a part of the river.
Midnight came and went. There were soft rustling sounds from the beach as some people left. Elise wondered if they were leaving because they had seen the maiden or because the
y had given up. She never wanted to leave. The sensuous beauty of the night, the comforting feel of Sloane’s arms around her, the shared longing of humans—skeptical and not skeptical—who waited for a miracle, all blended together to fill her with a peace she had seldom known. She could sit there for hours, absorbing it to sustain her in the days ahead when she would need tranquility most.
But as she watched, the mists on the island parted. The moon came from behind its cloud and grew in power until the island was brilliant with its beams. From the cypress knees and palmetto an iridescent wraith uncurled. It was vapor illuminated by moonlight, one delicate, human-shaped spiral of mist that looked strangely unlike mist at all. It moved to the edge of the island, a woman with her arms outstretched, and then as Elise watched, it floated above the island and was absorbed into the surrounding vapor. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and then the wetness of her cheeks.
Sloane’s arm tightened spasmodically around her. Suddenly he wished that he’d been less practical. Given the chance for a miracle, he’d chosen only to ask for a comfortable parting. He wanted to shout for the maiden to come back. He wanted to shout his regret to the heavens and ask for another chance.
“Did you see her?” Elise asked softly. “She’s gone now. Tell me you saw her.”
He took a deep breath and wondered at his own response. “I saw something.”
“Amy, Clay?” Elise whispered. “Did you see her?”
She saw their heads nod in the darkness. Silently, with no need for more conversation, they all stood together. Sloane picked up the quilt and they found their way across the beach to the road.
No one else moved. Those still on the beach sat quietly, still waiting to see the maiden.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elise stared at the telephone receiver until a loud buzzing reminded her that the party on the other end had hung up and the phone had been off the hook long enough. She replaced the receiver gently and then stared at her hands, finally letting her eyes and her hands travel to her abdomen. The words she had just heard still rang in her head. “The test was positive, Miss Ramsey.”
Season of Miracles Page 20
