Strawberry Lace

by Amy Belding Brown

  Lori groaned.

  Muriel came up to them. She handed Chelsea the clean bath towel. “This is to wrap him up in when the cord is cut.”

  “Me? You want me to wrap him?”

  Muriel smiled. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  A few moments later Jeff tied the cord with string that Muriel had found in the knapsack and then cut it with a knife from the kitchen. Under Muriel’s direction, Chelsea wrapped the infant-securely in the towel, then handed him triumphantly to Lori.

  “Go ahead and feed him,” Muriel said. “Just put your nipple in his mouth. He’ll know what to do.” She lowered herself awkwardly to the floor and sat beside Lori, coaching her in a quiet voice.

  Jeff stood up. His shirt was soaked with sweat and there were streaks of blood on his arms and hands. Chelsea quickly unknotted the towel Lori had used and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” He breathed out a long sigh and grinned as he wiped the sweat and blood off. “Well, that certainly wasn’t how I planned to spend my morning when I suggested a sail out to Eagle Island.”

  “Thank you so much.” Chelsea felt tears pushing at her eyes again. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. It’s a miracle that you came.”

  “There is a miraculous element to our encounters, isn’t there?”

  She nodded, too exhausted and too euphoric to try and hide her profound agreement.

  He dropped the towel on the floor and put his arm around her. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air. I think the storm is over.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jeff guided her out onto the open porch. The storm had passed, but dense fog had rolled in behind it, shrouding the island in thick, white mist. Chelsea could barely make out the sailboat’s mast.

  “Oh no! We’re fogged in!” She looked up at Jeff. “Stuart won’t be able to get out here until it lifts.”

  “There’s no rush. Lori and the baby are fine. Tell you what, though: I’ll row out to the boat and radio the news in on the CB. That way your sister’s husband will know he’s a father.”

  “Thanks, Jeff. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Why don’t you come along? You can call Stuart and tell him what happened.”

  Moments later Chelsea was climbing aboard the sleek Winter sailboat. She gazed in awe at the polished wooden deck, the shining white gunwales. It was a far cry from the battered deck of Chelsea’s Choice. Jeff led her down three steps and through a small door into the cabin. As on deck, everything was sleek and shining. Satiny wood paneling and plush blue and white upholstery screamed comfort and money. Jeff motioned for her to sit on a small couch while he stood at the counter and flipped a switch on the CB.

  The box lit up and soon he was talking to a Coast Guard cutter out of Portland, asking them to relay a message to Paul LeBlanc. Then he turned the microphone over to Chelsea and she radioed Chelsea’s Choice. Stuart answered right away, his heartwarming tone communicating his relief at hearing her voice. She explained what had happened and assured him that both she and Lori were fine.

  “Jeff has offered to take us in when the fog lifts,” she said. “But his engine isn’t very big, so it will take a while.”

  “No way!” Stuart’s voice crackled. “I want to see that you’re safe and sound with my own eyes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She signed off and turned to look at Jeff. He was leaning back on the couch, his eyes half closed. She felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of fatigue herself.

  “Since we’re safe, Stuart’s not going to chance a run out to the island. And he doesn’t want us going anywhere either. The fog is really thick. It may even last through the night.”

  Jeff opened his eyes to smile at her. “I can’t say I’d object to spending the night with you. Maybe the fog is another one of those miracles.”

  Her stomach fluttered violently. She stood up. “I think I’d better get back and see how Lori’s doing.”

  “She’s probably sleeping by now.” But he rose anyway, and as he did, his arm brushed hers. She felt the electric tingle all the way down to her toes. When she looked at his face, she saw that he’d experienced the same thing.

  “Chelsea—”

  She closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t.” But her heart wasn’t in her words; it was really crying for him to take her in his arms.

  She didn’t resist when he embraced her, or later, when he pulled her down onto the couch. He kissed her deeply and tenderly at first, then with growing passion. She melted against him, mindless, oblivious to everything but his presence, his firm body, his caressing hands, his clean, masculine scent. His fingers slid sensuously over her arms, slipped under her blouse, caressed her breasts. She lay wrapped in his strong arms, desire pulsing through her in waves. She had never even imagined that she could want a man so much. She didn’t know that desire had the power to do this to a woman, that it could dissolve her, turn her into a furnace of passion. She felt as if she’d been changed into water and could flow and swirl anywhere. So when he suddenly pulled away from her and sat up, she let out a little cry.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  He bent his head into his hands. “I can’t do this,” he said hoarsely. “I promised you it wouldn’t happen. I promised myself.” He got up and stood, gazing down at her for a long moment. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So incredibly beautiful.”

  Dazed, she sat up. “Jeff . . . I’m so confused. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.” She struggled against the violent trembling that seized her. “Every time I see you . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “I think it’s obvious what’s happening. And that we can’t let it happen again.” He turned and went to the door. “I’ll wait for you on deck.”

  Chelsea fought tears as she adjusted her bra and tucked in her shirt. She was just overtired, she told herself. That was the real problem. She had been through too much, that was all. She’d be herself again when she got a good night’s sleep. She wouldn’t be subject to Jeff’s wonderful smile or his sensual tenderness or his incredible kindness once she was rested.

  She thought suddenly of Stuart, and a wave of self-hatred swept through her. How could she do this, when only minutes ago she’d been talking with the man she loved? Why did her body keep betraying her this way? She wiped angrily at a tear that escaped her left eye. When the fog lifted and Stuart came, she’d spend the night with him, show him how much she loved him. She thought of lying naked beside Stuart and something went numb inside her. He had been a good friend for so long; there had been so many years of familiar, comfortable companionship between them. How could their relationship ever turn passionate? Would she ever feel the melting ecstasy with Stuart that she’d just experienced in Jeff’s arms? She felt suddenly sick to her stomach. She smoothed her blouse down over her breasts, slipped into her shoes and left the cabin.

  The minute she stepped out on deck, she knew there was no chance of Stuart coming for them in the next few hours. The fog had thickened so much that the beach wasn’t even visible. It was all she could do to make out Jeff, slouched on a gunwale in the stern. He rose as she came toward him, and without a word helped her into the little skiff that was bobbing beside the sailboat on the gray, mist-shrouded water.

  As Jeff predicted, Lori was sleeping when they returned to the house. The baby was sleeping also, tucked down beside her, his tiny face cherubic in the firelight. Jeff stoked the fire while Chelsea gathered up and took the dirty towels into the kitchen, to wash them out in the antique copper sink.

  It was a comfort to be alone with her thoughts as she worked. So much had happened in the last few hours, it felt as if the whole world had turned upside down and started rotating backward. It was all she could do to get her bearings, to remind herself that it was natural to feel so disturbed; witnessing a birth stirred up a lot of emotions. The intensity of her feelings for Jeff were only temporary. They didn’t mean anything. But she
couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had held her in his arms, the tenderness in his eyes as he’d told her she was beautiful. She wanted to experience it again, to lie under his gaze, to feel the rich flush of joy that had suffused her.

  She rinsed the towels, wrung them out, and spread them on the counter to dry. She was wondering what other task she could do to keep herself busy, when Muriel entered the kitchen.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” she said.

  “Sure.” Chelsea felt an affectionate warmth toward the older woman now. She had been so supportive during Lori’s labor and delivery, and she’d also helped Lori adjust to breast-feeding immediately after the baby’s birth. “Why don’t we go sit down?”

  Muriel shook her head and leaned against a tall cabinet. “Here would be better. I’d prefer to speak where I know we won’t be disturbed.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s about Jefferson’s behavior toward you.”

  The hairs on the back of Chelsea’s neck lifted. “I think you’ve already told me how you feel about that.”

  “I want you to understand, it’s nothing personal.

  It’s simply that he has a very large inheritance coming to him. In the near future, it will demand his utmost attention. People in our situation are often forced to make some very unpleasant choices.”

  “I don’t know anything about Jeff’s choices, Mrs. Winter. Those are up to him.”

  “No, my dear, they’re not. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. In our social station, most of our choices are dictated by outside considerations.”

  “Such as where to live and whom to marry?”

  “Exactly.”

  Chelsea lifted her chin. “I don’t pretend to understand your world, Mrs. Winter. But perhaps you should stop assuming you understand mine. I’m not after your son’s money or his social status, or anything else. I’m not after him at all. I’m proud of my work; I love my job; I’m engaged to a wonderful man. And I happen to like being who I am: just plain old Chelsea Adams.”

  Muriel raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Are you denying you are infatuated with my son?”

  “I admire Jeff; I like him; I think he’s a wonderful doctor, but . . .” For some reason, she couldn’t complete the sentence.

  “You see, my dear, you’ve proved my point. You can’t deny that you are attracted to him.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m after him.”

  “Perhaps not, but he is clearly interested in you. Let me be frank. Jefferson cannot afford an unfortunate liaison at this point in his life. Anymore than he can afford to continue this doctor whim of his. The time has come for him to assume his rightful place in the world. He will soon be swamped with investments, stock portfolios, financial management.”

  “He’s not going back to Africa with Project HOPE?”

  “Africa? Of course not. That’s hardly an appropriate enterprise for him, hiding himself away in the jungle like that. He’s much too important. Besides, he simply can’t afford the time.”

  “Can’t afford time for what?” Jeff stepped into the kitchen.

  “Oh, Jefferson! You startled me!” Muriel drew back against the cabinet.

  “I’d like to know what you were talking about.”

  “Nothing, dear. Simply a little inconsequential chat.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Well, if you must know, I was discussing your future with Chelsea.”

  “My future?”

  “Yes, I was telling her about the overwhelming responsibilities that go with your inheritance. I was explaining why you won’t have time to return to Africa—”

  He cut her off. “I’ve told you before that I won’t allow some archaic notion of class obligation to dictate my behavior. I thought I’d made that clear.”

  “So you have, Jefferson. But you’re so young yet, you don’t understand—”

  “I’m thirty-two years old. I’ve been making my own decisions, living my own life, for fifteen years. I don’t intend to change simply because I came back to the States to visit you.”

  “Jefferson—”

  “And one more thing: my relationship with Chelsea has nothing to do with you. Whatever bond she and I choose to cultivate, now or in the future, is our business. Not yours.”

  Chelsea watched Muriel stiffen. “Jefferson, if you think you can treat me this way and get away with it, you are seriously mistaken. I advise you to remember that I have full control of your inheritance. I can and will cut you off if you disregard me.”

  Jeff stared at her for a long, tense moment, then turned on his heel and left.

  When Muriel looked back at Chelsea, she was smiling. “You see, my dear, everyone, even my rebellious Jefferson, can be brought to reason.”

  Nausea climbed Chelsea’s throat as she retreated to the sanctuary of the main room, where the baby was waking up in Lori’s arms. There was no sign of Jeff at all.

  Chelsea and Muriel ate in silence while Lori nursed the baby. No one spoke of Jeff’s absence. Lori seemed to sense that something had happened, but she was too absorbed by the baby to ask questions. When they finished eating, Muriel announced that she was going to lie down upstairs. She climbed the steps haltingly, gripping the rail in her hand, and Chelsea felt a wave of pity for the woman. It must be extremely hard for someone who was so bent on control over her family members to be losing control of her own body. Chelsea glanced at Lori. “I think I’ll go take a walk, if you don’t mind being alone for a little while.”

  “Alone?” Lori didn’t lift her gaze from the baby’s face. “Who’s alone?”

  The fog had lifted slightly. Chelsea could make out the sailboat riding the lazy ocean swells in the little cove. It didn’t look like they’d have to spend the night on the island after all. The sun would break through the fog soon, and Stuart would be heading out to the island to meet her. Chelsea felt a wave of relief, oddly mixed with resignation. She walked down to the beach, stooping to pick up an occasional stone or shell. She wondered where Jeff had gone.

  She climbed onto the boulder where Stuart had proposed, sat and curled her arms around her knees, gazing out to sea. She felt exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. She was an aunt now; she had a nephew, and it made her think about having her own children. What would they look like? Would their births be easier than the one she had just witnessed?

  She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Jeff descending the path from the trees beyond the house. He had his hands in his pockets; his head was bent forward; there was a grave expression on his handsome face. She wondered if he would speak to her after the humiliating confrontation with his mother.

  A moment later he spotted her and waved. She noted the little flutter of pleasure in her chest as he came toward her. .

  “I’m glad I found you alone,” he said, climbing up beside her.

  As she slid over on the boulder to make room for him, he dropped something into her hand. “A present for you.” It was a tiny scallop shell, perfectly fluted and pure white, with a small hole at its apex.

  “Thank you, Jeff. What’s the occasion?”

  “It’s sort of an apology for my mother’s behavior. It was unforgivable.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me. I know she was just defending you because she loves you.”

  He gave her a long look. “That’s very perceptive of you. Most people can’t see beneath her tyrannical exterior. The fact is, she’s terrified right now.”

  “Terrified?”

  He nodded. “Of losing me, of losing control of her body. I think it takes incredible courage for her just to get out of bed in the morning. She needs to know that someone understands her, accepts her the way she is.” He sighed. “I’m just having a very hard time doing that right now.”

  “I’m sorry if I created the situation that caused your quarrel.”

  “You didn’t create the situation, Chelsea. It was her own doing. All that talk about social class and inheritance turns my stomach, but
it’s the only life she’s ever known.”

  “But she’s right, social class does make a big difference in people’s lives. I’ll never have the kind of future you have. I’ll never have your social obligations. I’m not cultured or educated. I don’t have breeding.”

  He looked at her. “What you have, Chelsea, is something no amount of money or upbringing could ever give. You’re bright and alive and filled with spirit. Those qualities are more precious than any medical degree or family legacy.”

  Chelsea gazed down at the little shell in her hand. Her eyes stung and her throat felt strangely full. “Maybe we’re each given the things we need for our own particular lives.”

  He nodded silently and stared out to sea. He was quiet for a long time. The water slowly climbed the beach; the tide was coming in. A gull swooped and landed a few feet from the boulder and regarded them with a shrewd, orange-ringed eye. Finally, Jeff spoke in a low voice.

  “She asks so much of me. She always has. It’s one of the reasons I went to Africa: to get away, to give myself some space to think, to make my own choices without her interference.”

  “And then she got sick and you came back.”

  “I had no choice.”

  Chelsea stared at the little sailboat, rocking gently on the water. It was hard to believe that something so small and fragile-looking could have survived the storm that just passed over the island. Yet it looked untouched, exactly as it had before the storm: elegant and sleek, lying gracefully on the gray water. Its strength lay in its ability to ride on top of the waves, not to submit to the weather’s whims.

  “We always have choices, even when we don’t recognize them,” she said quietly. “Sometimes we just need something or someone to open our eyes.”

  He looked at her closely. “What are you saying?”

  “I guess I’m trying to say that you can’t always accommodate the wishes of the people you love. Even though you might want to more than anything in the world. Sometimes you just have to be true to your own dreams in life, whatever they are. If you live by chasing someone else’s dream, it’s not really your life anymore, is it?”