Then the gaze coming from his gray eyes returned to one of longing, and he was forced to wipe away a tear.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I have since the night that I sketched you. But despite the pain it will cause me to be near you, I will abide by your wishes.”
Brooke nodded. “Thank you,” she answered. “And please know, my forbidden darling, that I love you, too. But all that can happen in this regard has already taken place on this mountaintop. This may be where our physical ardor began, but it must also be where it ends. So if you truly love me, then promise me, Greg. Promise me that nothing like this will ever happen again.”
Although his heart too was breaking, Greg nodded. “If that’s what you want,” he answered, “then yes, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” she answered.
On their return to the picnic area, Greg began repacking the basket. As he did, Brooke looked at the recently turned earth beneath which lay Greg’s coneflower seeds.
Will they one day burst through the soil? Brooke wondered. Although I don’t know, one thing is for certain. If they do, they’ll be the only sign of what just happened here . . .
“AND SO, DEAR diary,” Brandon read, “that is the story of what happened today. My heart is now even more heavily burdened, my physical need for him even stronger after being nearly taken by him, and my guilt now overpowering. And yet, I cannot help but look down the beach and search out his cottage in the moonlight, the light coming from behind his windows telling me that he, too, is home alone. Does he still yearn for me as I do him? And if so, will that short stretch of sand be enough to keep our souls separate, as we have promised one another? I do not know. I only know that I am in the grips of the most grievous emotional pain I have ever experienced and that I am totally uncertain of what my future holds.”
Having finished the entry, Brandon closed the journal and set it on the table. The rain was coming harder now, and when he looked over at Chelsea he saw tears running down her cheeks. Reaching over, he took one of her hands in his to find that it had gone cold.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Chelsea sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered. “But I’ve learned one more thing about Brooke.”
“And what is that?” Brandon asked.
“Why coneflowers became her favorites,” she answered softly.
They sat there in silence for a time as the rain continued its steady drumroll on the old porch roof. Deciding to wait before speaking again, Brandon gave Chelsea all the time she needed. At last, she wiped her eyes and turned to him.
“Do you know where it is?” she asked.
“Where what is?” he replied gently.
“Red Rock Mountain,” she said. “Have you been there?”
“Yes,” he answered. “When I was younger. For most of the kids around here, going there is a rite of passage.”
“Will you take me there one day?” she asked.
“Of course,” he answered.
“Thank you,” she said.
Chelsea then returned her attention to the gray, restless waves and the incessant sheets of rain that fell upon them.
Love can be so elusive, she thought. We all speak of it, search for it, cherish it. But in the end, sometimes it leaves us only bemused, baffled, and bewildered. Brooke was so unsure of whether she wanted Greg’s advances, yet he was more than willing to shower them on her. And I love a man by whom I would love to be taken but whose past still forbids him to do so. Oh, my dear grandmother! Can we women ever hope to understand our men—these vastly confusing beings with whom our hearts and minds wrestle so endlessly?
Despite her confusion, Chelsea knew one thing for certain. She was learning to understand her beloved grandmother in ways that she could have never imagined before coming to Lake Evergreen. And because she felt neither betrayed nor disappointed by Brooke’s evolving story, her tears were born not from judgment of her grandmother but rather from the great sense of empathy that she now felt for Brooke in her growing plight.
But despite how much Brooke loved Greg, Chelsea thought, she suddenly abandoned the cottage that very summer and refused to return for the rest of her life. And given that Bill didn’t survive, why did you do that, Gram? Why did your story with Greg end? And even more importantly, will Brandon ever embrace me as Greg did you? Or will I, too, one day feel the need to leave and never come back, because being here might prove too painful?
As Brandon gave Chelsea’s hand a gentle squeeze, the best she could do was to close her eyes against her growing tears.
Chapter 23
She is beautiful, non?” Jacques Fabienne asked. “Lovely as the day she was built! And it is lucky for the mademoiselle that I know how to operate her, because the owner’s manual from so many years ago is long gone.”
Three weeks had passed since Jacques had hauled the boat into Serendipity for her reactivation. And now that she was ready, Jacques smiled proudly again as he focused his gaze first upon Chelsea, then Brandon.
“Beautiful Brooke truly lives up to her name, non?” he asked.
Brandon, Chelsea, Jacques, and Margot were all standing on Chelsea’s dock, looking down at Beautiful Brooke. If it was at all possible for a boat to look happy to be back on the water, Beautiful Brooke was doing just that. Her mechanics had been reactivated; her woodwork, chrome, and leather had all been polished; and Jacques had even attached a small American flag to the stern flagpole. The light waves caused her to bump restlessly against the dock, as if she were itching to be set loose after so long a respite.
Smiling again, Jacques placed his meaty fists akimbo. “The mademoiselle is very lucky to own such a boat,” he said. “I do not believe that there is another like her on all of Lake Evergreen.”
Brandon squatted down and surveyed the cockpit controls. “I’ll second that,” he said. “Wow, is she gorgeous!”
“Do you know how to run her?” Chelsea asked Brandon. “Because I certainly don’t!”
“I’ve driven a lot of boats,” Brandon answered, “but this one’s a whole different animal.” Then he stood and smiled at Jacques. “So it’s a good thing that we have you to show us, n’est-ce pas?”
With that, Jacques’s barrel chest seem to puff out even farther. “That’s true!” he said.
While the others watched, Jacques maneuvered his great bulk down from the dock and into the driver’s cockpit, where his sausage-like fingers inserted the key into the ignition. He then eagerly began pointing out the controls.
“As you can see,” he said, “one must first put the transmission shift lever into neutral. If the motor is cold, you then grip the choke knob and pull it out about halfway. Then you turn the key and press the ‘start’ button. Once the motor is running, you . . .”
Eager to learn all she could about her boat, Chelsea listened intently. But although everything Jacques said made sense, Chelsea decided right then and there that she would ask Brandon to drive first, while she rode as a passenger. The day he took her up in his plane, she realized that he seemed to possess an inherent gift for handling machines that she didn’t share. Since inheriting the cottage she had been very lucky to have Brandon and Jacques in her life, and she knew it.
Smiling at Chelsea, Margot pulled her aside. “I should stop Jacques from talking so much, but I don’t have the heart,” she whispered. “If you listen closely, you’ll realize that he’s starting to repeat himself!”
Chelsea listened for a moment and then laughed. “You’re right,” she said conspiratorially. “And Brandon is so absorbed that he either doesn’t know it, or he doesn’t care,” she added. She then turned back toward them and she sighed. “Boys and their toys . . . ,” she said.
Margot gave Chelsea a wink. “Come with me, would you?” she asked.
“Sure,” Chelsea said. “But where are we going?”
“To the truck,” Margot answered. “I have something for you.”
Chelsea laughed a little. “More foo
d?” she asked.
As the two of them began walking off the dock, Margot smiled. “Mais oui!” she said. “Jacques and I are French, after all!”
When they reached the truck, Margot opened the passenger door and retrieved a wicker picnic basket, which she handed to Chelsea. “Voilà!” she said.
“What’s inside?” Chelsea asked.
Margot made a nonchalant gesture with one hand. “It’s just a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” she answered. “There’s a bottle of Pinot, some goose-liver pâté, cheese and sausage, and a loaf of bread. Peasant food, but good.”
She then turned and looked at Brandon, who was still intently listening to Jacques. “And romantic food, if you understand what I mean,” she added coyly.
Chelsea blushed a little. “Yes,” she answered. “I do . . .”
At last Brandon and Jacques joined them. “Well, have you learned everything you need to take me for a ride?” Chelsea asked.
“I’d better have,” Brandon answered, “or Jacques will have my hide.” He then looked at Jacques again. “Before I forget, is there an anchor in the storage compartment?”
Jacques nodded. “Plus a pair of paddles and plenty of stout line with an eye hook at one end. There’s also a folding ladder. Everything’s brand-new.”
“Well done,” Brandon answered. He then looked at the picnic basket Chelsea was holding. “And what do you have there?” he asked.
“It’s another care package from Margot and Jacques,” Chelsea answered. “They must think that I’m starving out here.”
Brandon laughed. “Well,” he said, “if it comes from them, then whatever’s in it must be good.”
Jacques respectfully removed the black beret from his head and held it before him with both hands.
“It is time for Margot and me to leave, mademoiselle,” he said. “As you requested, I had the bill for the boat work sent directly from the marina to Mr. Reynolds in Syracuse. I so hope that Beautiful Brooke meets with your satisfaction.”
Chelsea simply couldn’t help herself. Despite how little time she had actually spent with them, she had come to love Margot and Jacques. Stepping forward, she gave the huge Frenchman a kiss on one cheek. Almost immediately, Jacques began to blush.
“She’s wonderful, Jacques,” she said. “Truly. If Brooke knew about this, she would be so pleased.” She then turned and looked at Margot. “And thank you so much for the food,” she added.
Jacques gave Chelsea a rather sad smile. “If you will permit me, I believe that Madame Brooke does in fact know.”
With that, they all said their good-byes. Jacques and Margot got back into their battered truck, and in moments they were gone.
Brandon gave Chelsea a mischievous look. “So what’s in the basket?” he asked.
Chelsea grinned back at him. “That’s for me to know,” she said, “and for you to find out, Dr. Yale.”
“And I’ve got the perfect way,” Brandon said. “Let’s take Beautiful Brooke out and have a picnic supper.”
That does indeed sound perfect, Chelsea thought. “All right,” she answered. Then she looked at her watch. “But it’s almost six, and it’ll be dark soon.”
Brandon gave her a rather piratical smile. “Even better,” he said. “A perfect excuse to build a bonfire.”
“But how will we find our way home?” Chelsea asked.
“I’m a trained army ranger, remember? Now go and put on a swimsuit and a cover-up, and I’ll do the same.”
Chelsea scowled a little. “Why would I need a swimsuit?” she asked.
“Just trust me,” he answered. “Oh, and when you leave your cottage, make sure that all of your lights are on. I’ll be doing the same.”
This time, Chelsea was really baffled. “Why?” she asked.
“You’ll see, city girl,” he answered. “And bring along that heavy quilt that’s on your bed. Now hurry up and get going.”
“All right, all right!” she exclaimed jokingly.
Chapter 24
By the time Chelsea returned to the dock, Brandon was already aboard the boat and had her engine running. Chelsea was wearing a black, one-piece swimsuit with a cover-up, and flip-flops, plus she carried a light jacket and the bed quilt. As an afterthought, she’d also brought with her two wineglasses and a corkscrew. When she reached the boat, Brandon gestured for her to place everything onto the backseat and then get in beside him.
“Did you leave all your cottage lights on, like I asked?” he said.
Chelsea nodded as she settled in. “Yes,” she answered. “But it’s still a big mystery.”
“You’ll see,” Brandon answered.
As Brandon busied himself with casting off, Chelsea adjusted her sunglasses against the setting sun. Brandon then put the boat in reverse, and he carefully backed her away from the dock. Once they were about ten yards or so from shore, he shifted her into forward, added just a bit of throttle, then consulted the compass and headed north-northwest. At first he went very slowly, causing Chelsea to ask why.
“Aside from her tune-up at the marina, this old motor hasn’t come alive in more than fifty years,” he said, his voice rising to overcome the sounds of the engine. “I’m going to take it slow for a bit, before I crank up the throttle.”
“Where are we going?” Chelsea asked.
“To a little island I know that lies about fifteen minutes away,” Brandon answered. “Once I get us up to speed, that is.”
“What’s it called?” Chelsea asked.
“Spinnaker Isle,” he answered.
Chelsea smiled at him. “And is Spinnaker Isle great, Dr. Yale?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, it is.”
“And just how many other women have you taken there?” she asked coyly.
The wind ruffling his dark hair, Brandon turned toward her and smiled. “Three hundred and twenty-seven,” he said. “You’ll make it three hundred and twenty-eight. I’m shooting for an even thousand.”
As Chelsea laughed, Brandon gradually applied more throttle until they were at last speeding across the water. Chelsea had never been in a boat this fast, and she immediately loved it. As Brandon again consulted the compass and kept Beautiful Brooke on the proper course, Chelsea turned around for a moment and watched their two cottages shrink in the distance.
About ten minutes later, she saw a small spit of wooded land up ahead. As they came closer, she recognized it as an island.
“Is that it?” she asked loudly.
“Yes,” Brandon answered. “We’ll be there before you know it.”
True to his word, soon he was slowing the boat and letting her drift toward shore. When they were at a depth of about shoulder height, he cut the engine and set the anchor. Finally satisfied that the boat was secure, Brandon slipped over the side and then asked Chelsea to hand down the picnic basket, which he held over his head.
“You can bring the rest of the stuff,” he said. “And don’t get the quilt wet!”
Chelsea gave him a wry look. “So now I know why we needed to wear swimsuits,” she said as she gathered up the other things. “But how am I supposed to do this?”
Brandon laughed. “Hold everything over your head, put your butt on the gunwale, and then slide into the water,” he answered.
Unsure, Chelsea looked around for a moment. “What’s a ‘gun- all’?” she asked.
“The edge of the boat!” he answered laughingly as he turned and began wading toward shore.
Chelsea did as he said, yelping a bit as she slid into the cool water. Soon she had reached the beach, where she took a moment to look around the island. The sandy beach was fairly deep, ending at the edge of a thick stand of maple trees whose founding seeds had somehow reached there long ago. The wind was light, and by now the sun had drifted lower toward the horizon. She felt a bit cold, but not chilly enough to make her shiver.
While Brandon spread the quilt out on the sand, Chelsea began unpacking the picnic basket. At last they s
at they sat down together atop the quilt. As Brandon opened the wine, Chelsea looked out at Beautiful Brooke tugging at her anchor line.
Wondering something, Chelsea looked quizzically at Brandon. “Why didn’t you just run the boat up onto the beach a bit?” she asked. “That would seem easier to me than anchoring it.”
Before answering, Brandon poured two glasses of wine. “The answer’s simple,” he said. “Her hull’s made of highly polished mahogany. The sand would have scratched it. And don’t you dare run her up on your beach, either. Tomorrow I’ll rig up a permanent anchor for you offshore by your cottage because I know that raising and lowering the boat in the boathouse cradle is a real chore for one person.”
Chelsea took her first sip of wine. “Why can’t I just leave her tied up at my dock?” she asked.
“That’s okay during the day, provided you’re at home to keep tabs on her,” he answered. “But for overnight, she should always be anchored. If a storm comes up, she’ll tear loose from the dock and be carried away. It’s the same for my plane.”
That made sense to Chelsea, and she nodded. I’ve learned a great deal since I’ve been here, she thought. And I also have a feeling that there’s much more to know about Brandon, Brooke’s past, and Lake Evergreen . . .
“Now then,” Brandon said. “Let’s get a look at what the Fabiennes supplied us with this time. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”
He cut up some of the cheese and sausage, sliced the bread, opened the pâté, and handed some of everything to Chelsea before starting in himself. Chelsea liked watching him eat. Although his manners were always good, he was never dainty about it or stood on ceremony, like some of the men she had known in Syracuse. Yet again, she realized, he seemed to be so much in his element here on this sandy beach, with no seeming need to impress her or anyone else.
When they had finished, the sun was already touching the western horizon. It would be dark soon, Chelsea realized, and she was becoming a bit worried about getting home safely. Lake Evergreen wasn’t huge, but it was certainly large enough to get lost on. Just then she realized why Brandon had asked her to leave all of her cottage lights lit, and she smiled.
More Than Words Can Say Page 21
