by Jane Peart
She could hardly believe she’d said it.
At first Alan seemed dumbstruck. Then a series of emotions flashed across his face in quick succession—astonishment, relief, joy “You mean it? You really do?”
“Yes. Yes! That’s what I came to tell you. I think I knew it even before we went to Connecticut. Then, on the way home—”
Alan never let her finish. He was kissing her and murmuring, “I can hardly believe it. I’ve wanted it for so long. I didn’t think…I mean, I wasn’t sure you could love me—”
“I do!” She said, holding him, half laughing. “I really do.”
For the next hour they sat on packing boxes, holding hands, discussing all that had to be settled. Every so often they stopped to kiss and to declare their love for each other. There was so much to decide upon—the closing of Gatehouse Interiors, a date for the wedding, what arrangements should be made for Evalee and Natasha to travel to Burlington Falls, where Alan promised to see at once about buying the house Evalee wanted.
“We are going to be so happy,” Alan said.
“I know.” Evalee smiled at him. Her heart was rejoicing. It was as if a hundred bells were ringing.
It was growing dark outside. Since Alan had already packed his desk lamp, the room was soon full of shadows. Reluctantly Evalee stood up, saying, “I’d better go. Mama will be bringing Natasha home soon.”
“Will they be happy with our news?” Alan asked anxiously.
“Natasha will be beside herself! She adores you. And Mama will feel content that I have found someone like you.” Evalee put her hands on either side of Alan’s face, drew it down so she could kiss him. “And I feel very blessed indeed.”
New York
The same day her book arrived at the bookstores, a florist’s box was delivered to Kitty’s apartment. In it there was a note.
May I take you to dinner tomorrow night? I’m at my office, catching up on a stack of accumulated work. Let me know what time to pick you up. I Look forward to seeing you.
Craig
Under the layers of green tissue paper was a bouquet of flowers—irises, tulips, jonquils. As she lifted them out, their dewy freshness reminded her of spring in Virginia. She felt a twinge of homesickness. Still, she didn’t know if she could go back, at least not yet. She wasn’t sure what the repercussions would be once Cara and Kip had read her book.
The memory of her last visit to Montclair struck Kitty with a renewed sense of loss. It was not only hard but painful that she and her sister had parted the way they did. She and her twin had always been so close. Too close, Cara had said at times. It was as if they could somehow see inside each other’s heart, read each other’s mind. It seemed impossible to Kitty that they had reacted so differently to the experience of war.
She put the flowers in a vase and called Craig’s office. His voice, when she was put through to him, sounded pleased that she had called. “Are you happy with the book?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, very. I can hardly believe it.”
“You did a great job. I know it was hard work. But it’s going to do well.”
Craig had another call waiting, so they quickly decided upon a time for him to come for her the next evening. They had not seen each other since her return to New York.
When she opened her apartment door to greet him, she was smiling. He was momentarily stunned. He wasn’t used to seeing Kitty smile. The times they’d been together, they had mostly discussed the book, and her expression had usually been serious.
She looks incredible, Craig thought. She was glowing. Everything about her seemed to shine—her hair, her eyes. She was wearing a two-piece bronze velvet suit with satin lapels and cuffs, topaz earrings, and matching beads.
“I must thank you again for letting me use your beach house, Craig,” Kitty told him. “I loved it. It was just what I needed. It got me over whatever I was going through, and the work went well out there.”
“The book showed it, Kitty. Minimal corrections in the final editing. So how did you like the finished product?”
“It’s amazing. Unreal! And yet it’s out there. I’ve seen it, held it, read parts of it here and there. I don’t feel so possessive about it anymore. It’s got a life of its own.” She smiled. “I feel the way a mother must feel when she’s sending a child out into the world.”
“With her blessing, I hope.”
“Fervently that, yes.” Her face grew somber. “I want so much for it to succeed, Craig. Not for my sake as much as for Richard’s and all the men like him.”
They both were silent a moment, remembering. Then Craig held her beaver jacket for her. She slipped into it, and they went out of the apartment together into the city night.
The minute they stepped into the lobby of the famous New York restaurant, Kitty felt a sense of elation. All the months of work were behind her now. Her editor was pleased, and that gave her a wonderful sense of confidence.
The maitre d’recognized Craig and greeted him cordially. They were shown to a corner table, and a waiter soon appeared to take their order. Kitty looked around the elegant room at the pale mauve walls, the muted lighting. It had been ages since she had been so aware of her surroundings. She had been living in a cocoon for months.
They dined leisurely. Their waiter was attentive yet did not hover. Kitty felt relaxed, comfortable, as Craig talked about his trip abroad, mentioning some authors whose names she knew, and shared some interesting anecdotes about them. When their coffee arrived, he leaned back and asked her, “So now what do you plan to do? Write another book?
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not a writer, Craig. I had that one story to tell, and I’ve told it.” She paused. “Frankly, I don’t know what I’ll do. Writing this has absorbed me so completely that I haven’t thought of anything, certainly not what’s next.”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then leaned forward and said quietly, “Then why not think about marrying me, Kitty?”
Craig’s proposal was so unexpected that at first Kitty did not know how to respond. She had never really thought she would marry again. Richard’s loss had devastated her. They had been soul mates, so intimate that it was hard to think of achieving that kind of togetherness with someone else.
“I don’t intend to press you, Kitty. Take all the time you need to consider. I believe we could have a wonderful life together. I would do everything I knew of to make it so. We have much in common, much we could build on.” Craig seemed to deliberately keep his voice from pleading. But his eyes were as anxious as a boy’s. “I have come to love you very much, Kitty. The whole of you—the way you think, the way you feel, the way you express the deepest things you cherish.” He stopped, then smiled, adding, “To say nothing of the way you look.”
She felt a warmth creep into her cheeks. No man had looked at her the way Craig was, not for a very long time, not since Richard.
“I’m flattered, Craig, that you—”
“Nonsense, Kitty. There’s no flattery involved here. I admire you for your honesty, your beliefs. Even if you turn me down, I will feel honored to have known you. But the fact is that I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you now.”
He took her back to her apartment. At her door she looked up into his kind, strong-featured face, into the eyes searching hers. Slowly he took her into his arms, kissed her. She did not resist. It was a kiss of deep tenderness but also one that stirred fires of passion within her. It awakened in Kitty a longing for the kind of intimacy and fulfillment she had once known. Could she find it again with Craig?
When the kiss ended, she slowly drew away, out of his embrace, but he caught her hands, held them. “Kitty I do love you so. I know we could have a wonderful life together. Promise me you’ll think about what I asked you?”
“Yes, I promise, Craig. But you must give me time to think, to consider…to pray about this.”
“Of course.” He leaned forward and kissed her again softly. “Good night, Kitt
y.”
That night Kitty dreamed of Montclair, how it had been when she last saw it, how it must be now with the coming spring.
It happened in her dream just as it did in real life. Every year, with spectacular suddenness, spring burst upon the land, and the lawns stretching down to the curved driveway became golden with daffodils.
In her dream Kitty was running away from the house, not across the meadow to the woodland path or the rustic bridge that led to Eden Cottage but past all that, down to the gates and into the county road. She ran with a kind of lighthearted joyousness and woke up to find herself smiling.
She lay there for a few minutes, thinking about her dream. Kitty was not the least bit superstitious, nor did she put much credence in the meaning of dreams. Yet this one seemed to be saying something important. It came to her that she was running toward something new, something (different, to a road that led to a wider world than she had known before.
When Craig called later in the day, she asked him if he would like to meet her in Central Park. Of course he agreed to do so. They strolled the paths and talked at length.
“As I said last night, Kitty, I hadn’t meant to speak so quickly of my love. But being with you again…well, it happened. I had planned to be completely honest with you before I asked you to marry me. I wanted to tell you the truth about my background, who I am—or more specifically, who I am not.”
Puzzled, Kitty stopped walking to look at Craig. What did he mean? She thought she knew him. What she saw was a good-looking, self-assured man in his early forties with an enviable position in a prestigious publishing company.
“I know the kind of background you come from, Kitty, and it couldn’t be further from my beginnings. I know you have a list of ancestors a yard long, stretching back to this country’s Colonial days. I know you have well-regarded relatives in all kinds of occupations. I don’t. I don’t know who my parents were, where I was born. I was bundled up in a basket and left under one of the benches in a railroad waiting room.” Craig’s smile was rueful. “Someone found me. Nobody at the station remembered having seen anyone or knew how I’d come to be there. I was taken to an orphanage. I didn’t have a name, so they gave me one. Picked out of a hat, so to speak. The station was on the corner of two streets, Cavanaugh and Craig, so they combined them.” Again the half-amused, half-sad expression crossed his face. “I guess I’m lucky they didn’t call me New York Central, right?”
They started walking again as Craig continued. “Anyway, they kept me there until I was sixteen. Evidently I wasn’t considered adoptable. I’d been taught a trade, printing, and from somewhere I’d developed a love of books. I’d exhausted the orphanage library by the time I was eleven. Moby Dicky Robinson Crusoe, Huck Finn—read them over and over. When they opened the door of the orphanage and told me, “Good luck,” I knew I was going to need it. Still, I thought I could conquer the world.” He paused. “I must say, I’m grateful they did prepare me, give me the tools to earn a living. I worked as a printer and went to School at night. Eventually I got my college degree. Getting into publishing is a long story, though. I’ll tell you some other time.” They had reached the statue of Hans Christian Anderson, and they stopped there.
Craig reached for Kitty’s hand, brought it up to his chest, over his heart. “I wanted you to know all this, Kitty. I know I promised I wouldn’t pressure you, but…I’ve never wanted anything in the world so much as for you to say yes.”
All the time that Craig had been talking, telling her about himself, pouring out his story, something had been happening within Kitty. The tale of a lonely, “unadoptable” little boy struggling to find his place in a world that had abandoned him touched her deeply. In contrast, her life had been safe, secure, surrounded with loving, caring family—a family from whom she had estranged herself. She had what Craig longed to have, and she had not valued it enough.
“Thank you for being so honest, Craig. Not that it would have made any difference to me if you had a family or not. You are you, and I respect and admire you very much.”
“But you’re not sure you love me?”
“I had never thought of you in connection with that kind of love…”
“Will you think about it now?”
Kitty hesitated. There was so much to consider. “Yes, of course I will. I can’t promise anything.”
“Is there someone else? Another man?” Craig looked worried.
Kitty shook her head. “No, there’s no one. And maybe that’s just it. I’ve been alone for so many years, Craig, I don’t know if I could share my life with anyone again.”
“I would do everything possible to make you happy, Kitty.”
“I know. I just need time—”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be patient. At least, I’ll try to be.”
They went their separate ways then—Craig to his office, Kitty to walk a little longer in the park. All the things Craig had told her swirled in her mind. So much had happened in a relatively short time that it was hard to put it all in perspective. There were so many unknowns. From her experiences with Richard’s poetry books, Kitty knew that now that her war memoirs were published, she would hear from the public. There would be those who agreed with her and those who didn’t. Her life as she had lived it was bound to change. If she accepted Craig’s proposal, her life would change even more. Was she ready for that? Was she ready to love again?
By the spring, Kitty’s book had moved up on the nonfiction best-seller list of the New York Times. Her book had been serialized by a leading women’s magazine and excerpted in a prestigious weekly. Letters flowed in, forwarded to her by her publisher. Kitty had been asked to speak, sign books, on numerous occasions.
Craig basked in Kitty’s success. One evening when they were dining together, he teased, “In all your new celebrity, have you forgotten that I asked you to marry me?” His tone was light but his eyes were serious.
Kitty reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “No, of course I’ve not forgotten, Craig. I’ve thought about it a great deal. But before I give you my answer, I have to go to Virginia. I have some unfinished business there—”
She had thought hard about everything they had talked about in Central Park, and she had come to one decision, at least. Just as Craig had felt that he had to empty himself before he could expect an answer to his proposal, Kitty realized that before she could give him that answer, begin a new life, she had to go home, to Mayfield, and make peace with her past.
He frowned. “What does that mean? You told me there was no one else who had to be considered or consulted—”
“It’s nothing like that, Craig. I have to see my sister. My twin. I have to do that first. Now that my book is out, I need to see how she feels about it. I told you, she and my brother-in-law—well, we’ve had a misunderstanding over the way I feel about war. They knew I was writing a book, and of course they got a copy. Still, I have to go there in person.”
“To mend fences? I see. I should think they’d be immensely proud of you, no matter what they think of your convictions.” He smiled at her. “I know I am. Terribly proud.”
She saw a look in his eyes that seemed to plead, Don’t make me wait too long, Kitty.
chapter
23
Mayfield
KITTY DID NOT let anyone know she was coming. This time of year Cara would be busy getting her students ready to compete in the spring horse show.
All along the drive to Virginia, Kitty tried to analyze her feelings for Craig. Almost from the beginning, it had been more than just a good editor-author relationship, although she had not dared to recognize that she felt more than appreciation for his encouragement, admiration for his editorial skills, a growing affection for his consideration and sensitivity. Now he had offered something she had never thought to find again—a rich companionship, understanding, an enduring devotion.
One of the reasons she had wanted to come back to Mayfield, besides reconciliation with Cara
, was to face her past. Not to retrieve what she had lost but to find the key to her future. She had to say good-bye to whatever part of herself she had left here. She wanted to be sure she could put the past behind her, open herself to a mature, fulfilling marriage with a man of strength and character like Craig.
Montclair
No one seemed to be at home when she drove up to the house, so Kitty left a note pinned on the screen door.
Cam,
I’m at Eden Cottage. Need to see you alone, to talk. Please come down as soon as you can.
Kitty
In the cottage she got a fire going, unpacked the groceries she had stopped in Mayfield to buy. She looked through the records she and Richard had collected, and selected a favorite to put on the phonograph.
Instead of filling her with melancholy, the little house seemed to welcome her. It had always been a receptive sort of place, and now it seemed to reflect her new happiness.
It was getting dark when Cara walked across the rustic bridge that led to Eden Cottage. She was full of curiosity and apprehension. The last meeting with her sister had ended with resentment and a kind of sorrowful regret. It was a breach that had not been healed. Kitty had not been back since well before her book was published. No letters had been exchanged. A heaviness had lodged painfully in Cara’s heart. Now Kitty had come back unexpectedly. Why? Cara hesitated, then rapped lightly on the front door.
Thinking her knock must not have been heard, she opened the door and tentatively called her sister’s name. Cara stepped cautiously inside and was greeted with warmth, the glow of a fire in the brick fireplace, and the sound of music playing.
“Kitty?”
“Cara!” Kitty appeared in the alcove between the front room and the kitchen.
For a moment the two stood across the room from each other, the atmosphere tense with all that had been said in the past, all that was in their hearts and minds to say now.
Kitty was the first to speak. “I was just fixing tea. Would you like some?”
“Yes, that would be nice,” Cara answered stiffly. Then she offered, “Need some help?”
