by Lois Richer
“Ready?” he whispered in her ear, and Melanie nodded.
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
Where he led her was to the restaurant they’d visited the night Sara had appeared. A pianist was again the featured artist. The decor was slightly different if still rigidly formal and very posh, but good old Kramer was there, waiting to take their order.
“Welcome back, Mr. Stewart, Miss Stewart,” he murmured softly. His stern face creased into a smile. “Are we celebrating tonight?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Mitch overrode her. “Miss Stewart and I are getting married soon. We’re here to escape all the madness for a few short hours.”
“Congratulations.” Kramer bowed. “Champagne?” He said it with a French accent that made it sound exotic, and Melanie fell into a daydream about Paris and young lovers, which only reminded her of her current predicament.
“You shouldn’t have told him we’re getting married, Mitch. This is getting way out of hand.”
Mitch grinned, holding up his crossed fingers. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he murmured. “Relax, Melanie. That’s what tonight is all about, relaxing and enjoying the calm before the storm. And don’t make any mistake—we are getting married.”
Melanie peered at him, trying to read the dark flashes in his expressive eyes. Calm before the storm? Was she missing something here? If that’s how he regarded marriage, why was he so determined to go through with it?
Kramer ended up bringing a lovely nonalcoholic champagne that was every bit as delightful as the real thing. Melanie sipped it, enjoying the tickles of the bubbles against her nose.
“I’m having a steak,” Mitch told her, eyes wide with innocence. “I have a feeling I’m going to need all the energy I can get tonight.”
She frowned. “For what?”
He winked, and it only added to the worry that was settling around her. He was up to something. And that wasn’t good!
“For whatever comes along. Like dancing,” he added, obviously noting the suspicion crossing her brow.
“Oh, right. Dancing.” She stared at the menu while her pulse drilled. “I guess I’ll have the pheasant,” she decided at last. “And those potatoes I had last time,” she added, glancing at Kramer. “They were excellent.”
“Oui, madame.”
“Oh, she’s not madame yet, but she soon will be!”
Melanie pursed her lips at Mitch’s boisterous voice but refused to take the bait.
The salads arrived almost immediately, and they munched away in silence. To her surprise, Melanie found she was hungry. Kramer kept filling their glasses with the bubbly concoction, and Melanie was glad it wasn’t alcoholic. She would be under the table by now, she considered, recognizing the signs of nervousness as she took yet another sip.
As usual, the meal was exquisitely prepared. They ate silently, enjoying the Chopin flowing from the nearby baby grand. The evocative notes made her introspective, and she drifted off into a dreamworld where everything was wonderful. Slowly the music changed, flowing into a slow, dreamy number that released all kinds of wonderful thoughts in her brain.
“Come on, let’s dance.” Mitch’s deep voice was suddenly behind her. She turned to find him holding her chair.
“Oh, thanks for asking,” she muttered as he escorted her to the floor. “Don’t mind if I do.” She glowered at him. “Do you ever ask before you steamroll everyone into doing your will?”
“Sometimes. But only when I know I’ll get the answer I want. Tonight you’re cranky, and I wasn’t sure.”
He sounded funny, Melanie decided. Like he was choking or something. She pulled her head from his comfortable black shoulder and squinted into his face. It looked like the face of a smugly satisfied male, she concluded.
“Well, you should try it more often. Asking, I mean.”
With a whirl, Mitch steered her onto the patio. The brick terrace was surrounded by flowers that gave a soft, welcoming perfume to the chilly night air. She wondered absently how they kept the blooms from freezing during these autumn nights.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he was saying. “Because I wanted to ask you something quite important.”
She waited timeless moments for him to continue until the fear and nervousness in her unruly stomach could not be quashed any longer.
“Well, ask then,” she ordered peremptorily, fed up with all this silly suspense.
Melanie’s eyes grew huge with astonishment when Mitch pulled the brilliant diamond solitaire that sat perched on a wide gold band from his shirt pocket. She stared at it stupidly, watching the light reflect off its many facets. He pushed the golden circlet onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.
“I really am very fond of you, Melanie. And I want to marry you. Will you please say you’ll be there, ready to walk down the aisle? If you don’t, I’m going to be terribly embarrassed.”
That hangdog expression was the pièce de résistance, she decided. He looked so woebegone that she stifled her hysterics and tried to speak rationally.
“I’ve told you, Mitch. I don’t want to be married just so I can collect twenty-five thousand dollars.” Please say that’s not why, she begged silently. Please tell me you love me.
“What if it were the full fifty thousand?”
Melanie yanked her hand out of his, pulled off his lovely ring and thrust it into his hand. She hurried into the restaurant, her heart breaking. Moving swiftly, she gathered her handbag, picked up her stole and swept outside. Mitch followed minutes later.
“Melanie? Where are you going?”
“I’m going home. Either you can take me or I’ll get a cab,” she said sadly. “But whichever way it turns out, I am not, repeat not marrying you. Not even if it involves a hundred thousand dollars. I am not marrying anyone for money.”
Fortunately, a car pulled up to the entrance just then and Melanie’s friend Jeff came loping down the stairs to accept the key from the valet. She hurried across the damp pavement, calling his name. “I need a ride, Jeff. Can I tag along?”
“Mellie? What are you doing here?” Jeff stared at her.
“I’ll take you home, Melanie. You don’t have to go with him.” Mitch sounded frustrated, but Melanie ignored the plaintive tones, rounding on him fiercely as she swallowed her pain. She couldn’t deal with this. Not now.
“You’re right, for once, Mitchel Stewart. I don’t have to do anything. Including marry you. And I am not going to!” Whirling, Melanie flung herself into the front seat of Jeff’s car, oblivious to everything but the need to get out of there. Now!
But as Jeff drove her home Melanie didn’t feel victorious or smug. What she felt was a sharp, stabbing pain in the middle of her heart. She was alone. Again.
One little four-letter word was all it would have taken, she thought. Just one tiny word. And he couldn’t say it.
At home she avoided the fearsome threesome in the living room and scurried up to bed. But she lay for a long time before her eyes closed, and when they did, all she could dream of was Mitch and the things that would never be.
Chapter Twelve
“He’s besotted with her.” Faith giggled enthusiastically. “I’ve seen him watching her, and I’m positive Mitch loves our Melanie every bit as much as she loves him.”
“That may be,” Charity muttered, fastening Hope’s beautiful pale peach dress with difficulty. “But she hasn’t told him, and if I know my daughter, she probably hasn’t even admitted it to herself. And I’m positive that he certainly hasn’t told her any such thing.”
“I’m so happy myself, I can hardly imagine anyone being sad.” Hope smiled sympathetically. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
“You can pray, dear. We all can. The Lord will make a way through this mess. He is in control.”
“Faith’s right,” Charity murmured. “And this is your special day. Don’t let anything or anyone spoil it for you, Hope. Not when you’ve waited so long.”
There was a pounding
on the door, which sent all three ladies scurrying.
“Who is it?” Charity called out just before Faith opened the door. They all gaped at Mitch’s grim countenance and Melanie’s white face as they stood together in the doorway.
“Uh, I’m sorry to bother you, Hope. Really, I wish this could wait, but it can’t. I have to talk to you right now.” Mitch’s voice was low and husky.
Charity advanced like a mother hen protecting her chick, but Melanie forestalled her. “Leave them, Mother. This has to be said.”
Mitch led Hope to a seat and knelt in front of her.
“I’m so sorry to do this, Hope,” he murmured, holding her small, fine-boned hand between his brown paws. “I’ve had a private investigator checking into Papa John. He assured me a week ago that Papa John and Jean LeClerc were two different men, but today I received a phone call that seems to prove the two are one and the same.”
Hope’s face grew white and still. Faith scurried up to support her with a comforting arm around the shoulders while Charity rushed to get a glass of water.
“But I thought that wasn’t possible,” Hope whispered. “I understood there were records or something that totally disproved that hypothesis?” She stared at Mitch in confusion.
“So did I,” Mitch murmured. His eyes were dark with sympathy, and Melanie was glad he was there to help her deal with it. “But Clarence just phoned me with information about fingerprints. Apparently an old set was found from long ago, in France, and they match Papa John’s.”
“And John?” she asked quietly. “What does he say?”
“He says he’s very sorry,” John murmured from just outside the door. His white head was bowed, his eyes full of sadness. “I would explain it if I could, Miss Langford, but I simply don’t remember. Not you, not our plans, not the war. I have only confused fragments of the time in hospital, a date and the name John.”
Hope stood, a slim, delicate figure in the bright afternoon sunlight.
“And Harry,” she murmured in confusion.
“I’m right here, Hope.” Harry Conroy moved forward to enclose her in a hug that crushed her dress and made Charity frown.
“All these men in the bride’s room.” She fussed, straightening a pillow with a surfeit of energy. “It’s just not fitting.”
Harry pressed Hope onto a nearby sofa and sat down beside her, gathering her hands in his.
“My darling Hope, I’m still here. I always will be. If you want to call this shindig off and think about things, we can do that. I know it will take a while to assimilate everything.”
“You’re so dear, Harry,” Hope whispered, cupping his cheeks in her palms. “Such a dear, wonderful friend when I’ve caused you so much…”
“Happiness,” Harry finished for her. “Nothing has changed, my dear. I still love you as much as I always have. All I want is for you to be happy and content. If it means that you have to talk to this fellow, think things over, then that’s what we’ll do.”
Melanie watched as a thousand different emotions flitted across Hope’s face. Hope glanced from John to Harry and then back to John as if she couldn’t quite grasp this latest development. Then she moved forward to grasp John’s arm.
“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “So glad. If only I’d known sooner…” Her voice died away. Harry stood, walked to the door and silently pulled it open.
“Where are you going, Harry?” Hope asked, her voice stronger.
“You’ll need some time to discuss this, absorb what it means to you. I’ll just go to the church and tell everyone to go home.” The judge’s tones were quiet.
Charity gasped in surprise while Faith issued a wail of dismay. But Hope stared at her fiancé.
“Are you backing out on me, Harry Conroy?” she demanded.
“No, of course not, but—”
“Yes, you are,” she told him severely. Then her face creased in a smile. “That’s an awful thing to do to a woman who’s waited until her late fifties to get married,” she teased. “And I’m not letting you get away with it.” Hope held up her ringed finger in front of his face and spoke in a sure, steady voice.
“I loved Jean once, Harry. And when he never came back, I locked my feelings away and decided that love wouldn’t be a part of my life. I thought that if I were stoic enough, God would give him back.” She shook her head.
“But after Anna died, and you and I got involved in the seniors’ center and the choir at church, I realized that Jean had left my heart. Yes, I remembered him fondly, but I wanted something real, someone alive in my life. And finally—” she kissed his cheek “—finally I realized that I loved you.”
Harry’s face was a beaming circle of happiness as he hugged Hope.
“I’m not waiting any longer, Harry. It’s now or never for me.”
“Then it’s now,” Harry boomed, and led her from the room.
Those in the room heard two voices whispering outside, then Hope scurried into the room to stop in front of Papa John.
“I’m very glad that you’re safe and alive and have gone on with your life,” she told him sincerely. “And while things might have been different, God has led me down a new path.” She stood on her tip toes to kiss his cheek.
“Be happy, Jean. Make your life as full and rich as you can. And don’t worry about me. I’m going to be very happy.” And smiling through her tears, she glanced around the room at her friends.
“Are you going to miss my wedding, girls?” she chided, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Charity bustled forward and scooted the men from the room.
“No, we’re not,” she said firmly. “But everything must be done decently and in order. Mitch, you get your grandfather to the church right away.”
It was Faith who led Papa John from the room. Melanie tried to listen in on their conversation but all she heard was Faith’s quiet voice inviting the elderly man to the festivities.
“And bring your lady friend,” she encouraged brightly. “Hope will be glad to know you have someone special in your life, too.”
Melanie drove to the church and checked the pew bows, the flower arrangements and the bridal bouquet, but she couldn’t help repeatedly seeking out Mitch’s tall, dark-suited frame.
“It seems that everyone has someone special in their lives,” she murmured to herself as the organ music started and her mother led the procession down the aisle leaning heavily on Frank Bellows’s muscular arm.
“Everyone, that is, except me.”
Life should have settled down in Mossbank, back to its usual boring routine of work, eat and sleep, but Melanie couldn’t truthfully say that she got much of the latter. Not since Mitch had cornered her after the reception, saying it was urgent that he talk to her.
“I have something extremely important to say to you,” he said.
But his important business had to take second place. A telephone call demanded her immediate attention at the nursing home, and not wanting to spoil the festivities, Melanie kissed Mr. and Mrs. Harry Conroy, gave them her best wishes and hurried away, Mitch trailing behind.
“Why is it that whenever I want to talk to you, you take off?” he demanded, grabbing her by the arm. “What’s so important this time?”
“Sunset’s on fire,” she told him grimly. “I’ve got to go.” When he insisted on coming, Melanie didn’t argue. She couldn’t seem to find her car keys, and he was as efficient as she might have wished for.
Melanie was doubly glad he had come when she saw the red flames licking up the south wing. And he was a bulwark of strength, propping up her shaky body when she saw the damage.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, brushing his hands over her hair gently. “Everyone got out, the fireman says. They have it almost under control.”
Melanie stared past him unseeingly, her mind fixed on the blackened, ragged edges of Sunset and on her residents. As each of the clients came to mind, Melanie finally broke free of the stupor holding her inactive.
&
nbsp; “I’ve got to see them,” she whispered, hurrying toward the wing of the hospital nearest the home. “Please God, let them be okay.”
“He’ll have them safe, honey. Don’t worry.”
Mitch was right behind her, and he stayed close as they worked to organize the residents, calming and settling as they went. Nettie Rivers was white and pinched with fear as she sat clutching the cat she spoke to constantly.
As Melanie watched, Mitch coaxed the elderly woman out of her chair and to her room, tucking the covers around her carefully after she had swallowed her medication.
“Please stay with me until John comes,” the old woman whispered in a thready voice. Mitch sank onto the chair beside her bed, still holding the blue-veined hand. “Someone phoned him, and he promised he’d be right here.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Mrs. Rivers.” Mitch patted her shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll sit with you until Papa John comes. After all, you are my biggest client.”
Melanie frowned as Nettie patted Mitch’s shadowed cheek. Client? What was that about, anyway?
“You’re such a dear boy,” she told him. “The most suitable mate for our Melanie. I know you don’t think I should have done it, but I was so sure that you two would be the perfect foil for each other. All of us did.”
“None of that matters now, Nettie,” Mitch murmured, helping her to lie back. He tossed a sideways look at Melanie and shrugged. “Just rest.”
The paper-thin lids closed as Nettie breathed out a sigh.
“Melanie needs a man who will challenge her,” she whispered. “Someone who’s not afraid to dare her to take a chance. She’s buried herself here for so long, seeing to our needs. I just knew God would send someone very special. If only…” The words died away as Nettie drew a deep breath and slept. Melanie stared at Mitch.
“What was all that about?” she demanded softly. “You’d think she had some hand in our meeting.” His skin flushed a deep pink. “Never mind,” she murmured. “I’ve got to go check on the rest. This sure would be a good time for Papa John to hand over that money.”
