“So that means it’s all as proper, as proper can be.”
“Better not let your mama hear you saying, ‘ain’t,’ sugar.” His voice was odd. The intonation of it different than any Lauryn had heard him use before. “And of course it’s not proper. Am I going to spend every minute here apologizing to you for one thing or the other?” he asked angrily.
“I suppose that’s up to you, isn’t it?” She looked at him. The sad expression on his mouth, the way his broad shoulders slumped in the manner of having been conquered. “Do you know what you need, Mr. Masterson?” she asked.
“A sound slap across the face again?” he chuckled.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I think…it’s what Sean needed when he came home from the war all broken and sad.”
“And sighted,” Brant added.
Then, before she could think of the absolute brazenness of what she was doing, Lauryn moved forward and, slipping her arms around and under his own, embraced him warmly. She felt his chest rise as he inhaled deeply, uncomfortable and uncertain how to respond.
“My mama says, everyone on this green earth, should have at least two hugs a day. It does more than any medicine ever could,” she whispered. At the same time, she wished she hadn’t been so bold, because the feel of his body next to hers, the smoothness and scent of his skin against her cheek was completely appealing to her senses.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t been this close to him before. Why, just two days before on the train, he’d been the one to take her tightly in his arms. Of course, that had been quite different. He’d been fully clothed, for one thing.
“Your mama’s right,” he mumbled. He patted her rather platonically on the back, did not return her embrace, but did not push her away either. And she knew it was enough. All he could take. But he had received it. He had not erupted in fury. He had needed a hug. It was as simple as that.
“Now,” he said. “A couple of things have happened here tonight…that need to be addressed.”
Lauryn stepped back from him and waited for his scolding.
“Those bein’…” she prodded.
“Well,” he began. “Number one…I’ve acted inappropriately in a house that I’m a guest in. Offended my hostess’ daughter. I’ll apologize to your mother tomorrow if you think I should.”
Lauryn smiled. “I’ve had one or two of your apologies, sir. I think it’s best we just keep that one to ourselves.” He smiled.
“All right. Now, number two…I’ve confessed my having played tea party…with dolls, mind you…as a boy. I’d appreciate it if that, too, never left this room.”
Lauryn smiled. “All right. I agree.”
“Now, third,” he began. “I’m going to bed.” He began to fiddle with his trousers button again. “So, just in case you don’t want anything else going on in here that needs to be a secret…”
Lauryn didn’t allow him to finish. She simply turned and fled the room. His warm chuckled followed and she smiled, pleased that she could lighten his heavy burdens, at least for a moment.
“He’s fabulous, you know,” Lauryn sighed as she entered her room and saw the Captain standing in the corner waiting for her.
“I know,” the Captain agreed. “It’s in the blood line.”
Lauryn forced a smile. “He’ll be here only a week, Captain. And when he leaves…”
“He’ll have broken your heart already,” the Captain finished.
Lauryn tried to stop the tears that were pooling in her eyes. She nodded.
“It will be all right, peach,” the Captain told her as he walked to her and took her in his protective embrace. “You’ll see. You’ll solve this confounded mystery and…and everything will be all right.”
“It will. It will,” Lauryn whispered, trying to convince herself. She fanned her emotionally heated face with one dainty hand and sniffled, trying to regain her composure. “It’s just the drama of it all, right? Just the fact that he’s a soldier and you know how I hurt for all of them. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Lauryn. I do know,” was all the comfort the Captain would give her.
“And…and he called me, ‘sugar’,” she confided. “And…and I adored it!” She again fanned her blushing face and tried to regulate her breathing. “He’ll be the end of me, Captain. The very end.”
The Captain only smiled. “Oh, I very much doubt that, sweetheart.”
Chapter Five
The remaining days Brant would be at Connemara began slipping by faster than Lauryn wanted to acknowledge. Each day for the few moments she could steal him away to herself, Lauryn talked with Brant about Lauralynn. They reviewed the elements they had a sure knowledge of again and again, going over every detail of her appearance, every fact she had communicated to Brant about the day she disappeared.
Still it was difficult. If it weren’t Patrick wanting Brant’s complete attention, it was Sean or her mother or even Nana. And when she was able to get him away for a short time, Lauryn found her innermost desires were to talk to him of nearly anything else but the problem binding them together!
As ever, the Captain was the calming force in Lauryn’s life. Ever encouraging, ever sympathetic, he helped her to stay relaxed and hopeful in her moments of near despair. Since meeting Brant, Lauryn felt the pressure to find Laura all the more. Now, there was not only the Captain to save…but Brant. It was often obvious that Brant’s greatest discouragement came from his realization that he would no longer be able to help find Laura. If his knowledge didn’t help Lauryn to find her, he could not see himself being of any worth to his beautiful, lost, spirit friend.
The days seemed long, and yet not long enough. Lauryn knew she was learning things from Brant that were vital to her success. She knew it! But it frustrated her that she could not fit the pieces together and solve the puzzle. Those were trying days for Lauryn Kensington in so many ways.
One afternoon, when Lauryn was finally able to steal Brant away from Patrick long enough to get a word in, Brant related again the story of his meeting Lauralynn. As always, they spoke of the things she told him through gestures and of her appearance. Over and over that day, they discussed her appearance. For it felt significant to both of them. The presence of the tiny cup Lauryn carried with her for years was especially intriguing to Lauryn. What was its significance? And why, confound it all, couldn’t Lauralynn be heard? What was the perfumed fragrance Brand smelled in her presence? Why could he hear her name but nothing else?
All these things and more were discussed and pondered each time Lauryn and Brant were together. Always the same questions and always the same answers. The monotony of it was exasperating. Therefore, the conversation would often turn to less frustrating subjects, to give their tired brains a rest.
Brant asked many questions about Lauryn’s family and Lauryn learned Brant’s family worked a vast apple orchard in Vermont and raised cattle. Brant’s mother died when he was quite young. That knowledge gave Lauryn greater insight into why Laura appeared to Brant much earlier than the Captain appeared to her. Brant needed Lauralynn as she needed him. Brant’s older sisters, April and Rose, were married with young families. His older brother, Parker, still a bachelor, lived with his father, helping with the orchards and cattle.
Frequently, Lauryn felt guilty when she consciously realized she very much enjoyed talking with Brant about things other than Lauralynn and her tragedy. Often an extreme nervousness washed over her when her heart began to swell as she looked at Brant—as she watched him. Every time his arm brushed her own, or he laughed at something she said, an overwhelming delight rose within her. After all, she told herself, what woman wouldn’t enjoy the attention of such a handsome, wonderful man?
She marked her attraction to Brant in her mental ledger as simple female vanity. She tried to ignore the accelerated beat of her heart whenever he smiled at her or laid his hand on her shoulder to be led somewhere. Until one particular afternoon when Lauryn bested Patrick in the battle for Brant’s attention.
Earlier in the day Lauryn and Brant had been sitting in the parlor discussing Lauralynn and what could be done. She learned that Brant, too, was growing weary of the endless discussion with no resolution. Both were becoming frustrated and it was beginning to seem intolerable.
But that afternoon, as they sat across from each other discussing the mystery, Brant sighed in frustration and slumped back in his chair.
“What’s wrong?” Lauryn asked. As he reached up and began rubbing his temples with one hand, she became more concerned. “Are you all right?”
Brant nodded and then, unexpectedly, changed the subject, as well as, his mood. “It’s…” instantly he was angry—seething, in fact. Lauryn sensed it, not only in the tone of his voice but by the stiffness of his lips. His jaw clinched in frustration.
“It’s what?” she asked.
“It’s…it’s frustrating!”
“Yes, I know,” Lauryn sighed. She knew how overwhelming the situation with the Captain and Lauralynn was—all too well. “It seems, at times, that it will never end and that…”
“Not that,” he interrupted impatiently. “Blindness. It’s frustrating.”
Lauryn struggled to swallow the lump of sympathy that rose in her throat. What could be said? What kind of response could she make that wouldn’t sound ridiculous and cliché? She had assumed he referred to their task at hand—finding Lauralynn. It hadn’t occurred to her that he was referring to his injury. She felt quite naive for not understanding what, at that moment, was his true frustration.
Unpredictably he asked, “What do I look like?” Lauryn was silent for a moment, too stunned by his question and sudden change in demeanor to answer. “I can’t even remember myself,” he continued. “I can see my family, my friends…in my mind I can see them. But I can’t look into my imagination’s mirror and see myself. And I have no doubt that I look like a scroungy old dog at best.” He bowed his head and rubbed his temples in frustration again. “And what about you?” he asked. “What do you look like, Lauryn Kensington?”
Lauryn was taken back. She had not expected such a question and could not fathom how to answer.
“You’ve… you’ve seen me.” She stammered.
Brant laughed a solitary breath of a laugh. “I have not.”
“In the car…on the train. The day we met.” Lauryn did not want to try to explain her appearance to him. She could think of nothing else she wanted to do less! And although she knew he had not seen her, even though he had told her himself that she was no more than a shape in a fog, she feigned ignorance.
“Don’t avoid answering. I’ve noticed you have a deplorable habit of avoiding issues that make you uncomfortable.” He grinned impishly.
“If I’m so deplorable, find someone else to talk to.” With an aching disappointment and throbbing hurt in her bosom, Lauryn stood, intent on leaving him in the parlor to his own ends, but his firm grasp on her arm halted her.
“What do you look like?” Brant asked again, his voice low and serious. As he stood, more of the anger seemed to leave him. “Are you beautiful?”
“Certainly not!” Lauryn answered bluntly. And, it was truly her opinion of herself, however far from the truth it may have been. Brant smiled, and as always Lauryn, was entranced.
“You’re lying,” he whispered. “Tell me…what do you look like?”
“I…I don’t look like anyone else in my ancestry, if that’s what you’re askin’.” There it was! Thick in her veins! That unfounded jealousy that was beginning to burn within her at times. “I don’t have any of Laura’s beauty. I look nothin’ like her.”
“I didn’t ask you if you looked like her,” he growled. “I asked what you look like!” He raised a hand and ran it through her wavy tangled mass of hair. “A brunette. Correct?” It was a rare experience for Lauryn to have a man touch her so personally.
“Yes,” she managed to confirm. She could not quit staring at him, studying every visible line of his face. He was perfect!
“Brunette like chocolate?” he prodded.
“No. Like…like maybe nutmeg.”
He smiled and toyed with one long lock of her hair. “And this is natural?”
“The preposterous curl? Yes,” she nearly spat. How she hated her hair!
Still smiling, he rested his hand on the top of her head. “You’re short, too.”
“Slight of height,” she corrected feeling her mood lighten.
He chuckled. “Short.” Lauryn felt herself smile. This was a friendly sort of banter, bordering on flirtation. Lauryn was delighted by it.
“Thin or chubby? Brant asked.
“Fat,” she assured him. He laughed.
“Liar. That much I felt on the train.” He chuckled when she gasped at his brazenness. “Nicely… curved.” Again Lauryn gasped, even though she was completely thrilled by his roguish remarks, and again he chuckled. “So…a short, curvy, naturally-curly, nutmeg-haired one. That’s you.” His smile faded and his hand dropped releasing the long curl of her hair he had been toying with. “So be it,” he mumbled. “My imagination will have to do the rest.”
“No,” Lauryn whispered. She didn’t want Brant Masterson seeing her in his mind’s eye in any way as Laura’s likeness. Her hair may be different, but would he still imagine her face as Laura’s? For the first time in ten years, Lauryn didn’t want to be compared to her late great aunt. Before she could think to stop her actions, she took his hands and placed them, one on each side of her face.
Lauryn had seen others without sight feel the faces of people. She’d watched them trace the curves and lines of faces so their imaginations might conjure a familiar image in their darkened minds.
Brant did not pause. Closing her eyes, Lauryn tried to remain calm as his fingertips slowly caressed her temples, traveled lingeringly over her eyelids, brushed her lashes, traced her brow. It was questionable, according to propriety, for Lauryn to allow him to touch her so intimately. She well knew it. Yet, her heart raced madly with each caressive pass his thumb made across her lips. As her own imagination began to dwell on the kiss he’d taken from her in the train car, she opened her eyes once more to try and dispel the memory. This only served to make matters worse. Immediately, her attention was drawn to his mouth. To the tiny, oddly attractive scar just under his bottom lip. Lauryn was momentarily distracted as the right corner of his mouth twitched slightly, almost too slightly to notice.
She wanted to be with Brant longer—know him better—feel his kiss again. Such thoughts and emotions were too strong to be comfortable. She pulled away suddenly, stepping back and out of his easy reach.
Brant smiled seeming to understand her discomfort, and said, “I was right…very beautiful.”
Lauryn could not help but smile at his charm. “A true charmer, I see.”
“An honest charmer,” he replied.
His grin was roguish, beguiling. Lauryn couldn’t stop the admiring sigh that escaped her bosom. “A charmer, none the less.”
He was silent a moment then—a long moment—moments. Then he mumbled, “Let me smell you.”
“What?” Lauryn gasped in a whispered. It seemed an absurd request.
“Come on,” Brant coaxed reaching for her hand and pulling her closer again. “Haven’t you ever noticed that everyone has a distinct smell…a scent of their own …unique to each individual?”
“No…not…not really,” she stammered as his face moved toward hers. The fact that she’d mentioned the Captain’s individual scent was completely chased from her mind. She was entirely dominated by Brant’s presence and manner.
“Th
at’s because you can see. If you couldn’t see…you’d learn to smell better.” Brant chuckled. “I mean you’d learn to use your sense of smell better.”
“Very amusing.” Yet, it had been a clever remark. That she must admit.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Here…close your eyes.” Lauryn sighed and disobeyed. He was wise, however he reached up with his thumbs brushing her eyelids closed. “Now…smell me.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Brant!” Lauryn whined, opening her eyes and pulling her face from his grasp. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” he growled. Then she saw the hurt expression of his mouth and brows. How heartless she must seem to him! His sense of smell had, no doubt, been greatly heightened to help compensate for the loss of his vision. Her reaction must seem rather mocking and ignorant to him. Yet she did not want him to sense her pity for him either.
“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll smell you. But first assure me that you bathed this mornin’.” Brant grinned, obviously amused. “And—are you certain your parents named you ‘Brant?’ I’m beginnin’ to wonder if it weren’t, ‘Brat’ instead!”
“Nope. I’m certain it was Brant. And yes…I did bathe this morning,” he confirmed. “But you have to close your eyes…or it won’t be the same.”
“Very well, Mr. Masterson,” Lauryn closed her eyes. She was determined to please him, but when he took her face between his hands and drew it close to his neck, her eyes popped open. She wanted to see him, as well! As he pulled her face nearer to him, the very tip of her nose softly brushing his jaw, she closed her eyes once more.
“It’s doesn’t work if you don’t inhale, Lauryn,” Brant chuckled. So she breathed him in. And she knew her memory would treasure the scent of him forever! Brant was right. The scent of his face, of his neck was like nothing she had ever sensed. It was purely Brant Masterson. Her mind couldn’t even begin to describe it. There were familiar whiffs of scent about him—the residual aroma of soap, a clean shirt dried outside in the sunny breezes. Her mind’s eye also envisioned a warm, apple-wood fire crackling within a cozy hearth, the soothing flicker of a candle’s flame, sweet honey drizzled on a hot biscuit. In the end, it was simply, Brant. Brant smelled of comfort, protection, and warmth. A unique scent, indeed!
The Fragrance of Her Name Page 11
