Crown of Beauty

by Cecily K Wolfe

  He stepped over to the counter and grabbed a towel, reaching over the table to offer it to her wordlessly. She returned the smile he wore and wiped at her hands ineffectively.

  “Doesn’t want to let go, does it? My mother always said that a bit of oil helped with that.”

  She stopped moving and stared at her hands. Did she hear him correctly?

  “You remember your mother? Have any other memories returned?”

  He moved away, backing up the small steps he had taken towards her just moments earlier. Why was he reluctant to talk about whatever it was he was remembering? Or, she wondered, with a sinking feeling in her chest, why was he lying about it, like she suspected he had been doing on the Cliff Walk when they met by chance? She watched him tuck his hands into his pants pockets, and as she waited for him to answer, she raised her gaze and found him staring at her intently. It should have made her uncomfortable, to be under such scrutiny, but she straightened under his watch, as if his focus strengthened her. She had always been told that she was pretty, but for him to look at her with so much adoration in his eyes and expression, even when she was dusty and grubby, spoke to more than an appreciation of her physical appearance. She felt truly beautiful as the silence stretched out between them, and she held back the desire to walk around the table so she could be closer to him.

  “I wish I could speak to you more candidly, in private, but I know privacy isn’t possible, and I would never do anything to harm your reputation.”

  She was both intrigued and worried. They were practically alone now, and if they spoke softly, she was sure no one would hear. Something in her made her keep quiet, though, and she watched him struggle to continue, as if he wasn’t sure what he should say next. Finally, he sighed deeply and smiled again, as if this stressful interlude had not been a part of their conversation.

  “You seem to enjoy baking, and I know, as someone who has been the recipient of your efforts, that you are quite good at it. Where are these headed?”

  Catherine held back a sigh of her own. Will was incredibly confusing, but she could see so much good in him, and she knew he had been helping Arthur with so many small jobs around the shelter and with others, as her brother made a turn around town to see if anyone needed assistance. Will seemed to have knowledge of a variety of repairs to buildings, and had no difficulty getting his hands dirty to fix them, much to the town’s residents’ relief. Of course, there was never any charge for services offered through First Steps, so Will was giving his time and talents for free. So why was he lying, and how long had his memories been returning? Could she trust him, knowing that he was lying? He must have a good reason, she considered, but her heart felt as if it were hammering in her chest, the sound thundering in her ears like a warning. There couldn’t be a good reason to hide his memories or identity, but she wanted there to be one. She wanted him to be someone she could trust.

  “How do you decide which shapes to use?”

  As she had been lost in thought, Will had ventured around to her side of the table and was close to Catherine now, but kept his eyes on the dough rolled out flat in front of them, as if it was incredibly fascinating, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch him. Worry about him, about the future, rushed like a wave of heat through her, and she swallowed it down, searching for the words to answer his simple question.

  “Mostly how they fit into what dough is left, but really, I do have my favorites, and the children usually do, so I tend to make more of those.”

  “Like David’s horses?”

  Will picked up the metal equine form and wiggled it in a prancing motion in the space between them, making Catherine laugh. David and his parents were now living in a cozy apartment that had once been a storage area above a storefront, and both parents helped in the establishment below. The owner’s widow was having difficulty managing the business on her own, and childless, she was thrilled to have a little one to play with, caring for David when his parents were working. It was the sort of arrangement that Arthur always negotiated, somehow, putting together people and problems, solving them as if he could see a larger picture, one that showed him a way to bring people together to help each other. She had no idea how he had the wisdom and patience for it, but he explained, as always, that he prayed. All the time. Prayers. Work. Appreciation for the gifts he had been given, for his family, for Josie, the coming child. It seemed a simple formula, and Catherine wondered if she would ever get to the point where practicing those deceptively small-sounding steps became second nature to her, just as it was to him and Josie.

  “My maid, Annie, likes the hearts. The children like to ice them, but it’s a sticky mess. Annie is always horrified when I come home looking like they’ve plastered most of the icing on me.”

  She realized what she was doing only after she had taken up the shape and pressed it into the dough, feeling the blush rise to her cheeks. Will took one of his hands from his pocket and she wondered if he was going to touch her, but instead he lifted it to cover his eyes as he spoke.

  “I’ve been praying a lot, trying to find a way to talk to you, to explain things, but I don’t know how. I’ve never . . .”

  “Catherine. Will.”

  Catherine jumped back when she heard her brother’s voice, and Will’s hand was suddenly on her arm as if to keep her from falling. She turned to face Arthur, fighting the urge to look at Will. He never what?

  Arthur stared at the both of them, his lips thinned in a way Catherine had never seen, and she could see that his gaze had fallen to her elbow, where Will still touched her. She didn’t dare take her eyes from her brother to see Will’s expression, but it was unbelievably tempting. They hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but Arthur seemed to believe otherwise.

  “Will, I need to speak with you. Catherine, you’ll need to get back to work. The hospital residents are looking forward to your visit, and those cookies.”

  He didn’t move, but continued to watch them, and Catherine realized that he wasn’t going to leave them alone. She looked down at the heart on the table, under her fingers and pressed into the flat dough.

  “Please,” she whispered to Will, who had been frozen in place since Arthur appeared. He stiffened and let his hand drop, stepping away from her as it fell to his side. She lowered her head and took a slow, deep breath to keep from shaking. Will walked away, and she saw him move towards the door out of the corner of her eye. Arthur said nothing as the two of them left the room, and Catherine heaved a sigh of relief once they were gone, leaning into the table and staring at the heart she had so thoughtlessly cut out moments earlier. What was she doing? Obviously Will wasn’t telling her something - many things, in fact. What was it he needed to tell her privately, without her brother present? Surely anything that wasn’t shameful would be fit for Arthur to hear, but Arthur was upset, too, and Catherine had no idea if it was related to whatever Will was keeping from them, or something different.

  She took a few steps back until the back of her legs met one of the kitchen chairs, and sat down, in spite of what Arthur had just told her. Yes, the cookies needed baking, and the hospital residents would be excited when she arrived, not only because of the sweet goodness of the treats, but also for her company. Some of those the institution treated had little or no family or friends who could stop by the spend time with them, and she knew that their loneliness was a problem. The doctors and nurses were always so pleased when she and Grace walked around to talk to everyone, each of them moving in a different direction so that they could spend time with more the ill and injured, personally offering a cookie to each one. Of course, not everyone was able to eat a cookie for one reason or another, and she and Grace were always told before they made their rounds so they didn’t hand anyone a cookie who shouldn’t have been eating one, although sometimes the patients would try to wheedle one from them.

  Was there some way she could wheedle the truth from Will? Should she even try?

  She almost dropped her face into her hands but
remembered the dough stuck to them and almost laughed. That would be a fine thing, to get it all over her face and in her hair. No, if Will wanted to tell her - and she thought that he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have mentioned it, and he wouldn’t have been praying about it - he would do it when he was ready. But why hadn’t he been honest with her all along? When he reached out to her just now, as if he would keep her from stumbling when she was surprised by Arthur’s voice, she felt certain that he cared for her. She had no experience with men, so perhaps she was just too naive, or hopeful, lured by those sea-blue eyes and sweet yet sad smiles.

  What was Arthur always saying? Work, give thanks, and give it over to God. She was working, or at least she had been and would be momentarily, and she was thankful, always. Eyes closed, she whispered softly, imagining her heavenly father hovering close by as her brother and Josie always said He was.

  “Please, guide me as you will. I don’t understand everything that is happening, but I know that I have to trust you to lead me in the way you wish, just as you lead Will. I pray that we can continue to be friends, no matter what happens, but I know that you have plans for us both, and I need to focus on doing your will as best I can, even if all I can do right now is bake cookies and visit a hospital. Thank you for all you continue to give me, for my family, and for the chance to help others here at First Steps. Please also watch over Josie and her baby, and Arthur, who does so much to serve you. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard the male voices rising from the waiting area, Will’s, Arthur’s, and . . . was that her father’s as well? Arthur sounded as angry as he had looked earlier, but there was a pleading in Will’s voice, and her father seemed to be attempting to mediate between the two. Why was he even there, she wondered, then remembered her prayer. She would have to mind her own business, as much as she thought her family and Will were her business, and get the cookies done. Whatever was happening between the three most important men in her life would have to reveal itself when she was meant to know it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You look just like him. It’s uncanny, and undeniable.”

  Arthur’s father was as formidable a man as Will had ever met, and he made Will feel like a ten-year-old child again. Suddenly his palms were damp, and he fought the urge to wipe them on his pants. No one was in the room, or even in the building, except for Catherine, but she was close enough that she had to be able to hear her own father, loud and insistent, although without the aggressiveness that Arthur so uncharacteristically displayed.

  “And you say you have no memory of how you ended up here in Newport? Caught in a storm, and washed up, almost literally, at these doors?”

  Mr. Davenport wasn’t using a sarcastic tone, but as Will listened, no response in his mind or on his lips, he watched Arthur, who stood by his father, and grew ever warier of the younger man. Arthur was incredibly perceptive, and while he had been welcoming those first few weeks, Will knew that he didn’t approve of Will’s ongoing interactions with Catherine, and Will didn’t blame him. Arthur had told him to stay away from her, hadn’t he, and hadn’t Will done nothing of the sort? Still, Will worried that there was something to Arthur’s growing distrust of him, as if Arthur knew he was lying. Maybe not to what extent, but still, lying would be unacceptable in Arthur’s eyes, no matter what the reason.

  Could Catherine hear them?

  “Did you hear me, William?”

  Will jolted upright at the sound of his full name, and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

  “So you do remember who you are.”

  With both men staring at him, Will had to force himself to continue breathing. Whatever was Catherine thinking, if she heard what they were saying? She knew that he wanted to tell her something, so maybe she would believe that this was it.

  “Sir, I have only just remembered, and I still have gaps in my memory, so I was waiting until I knew more.”

  Davenport tilted his head, studying Will without malice, unlike his son. Arthur had done so much for him, a stranger brought in from the rain, and Will felt a stab of regret in the pit of his stomach to have upset Arthur, and worse, to lose his trust. Arthur worked so tirelessly, and had a wife he adored and spent time caring for; he didn’t need Will to give him cause for more worry.

  “It’s all very confusing, and I just haven’t been sure how to handle it.”

  Will watched the older man reach out subtly to take his son’s wrist in his hand, but even as Arthur allowed the contact, it didn’t keep him from speaking.

  “You handle it by telling the truth. By coming to me and explaining what it is you remember. We’ve established you with a family that is coming to care for you, and you have an opportunity to help the Van Aldens in more ways than one. Now, they will lose you, and the companionship between you and Mr. Van Alden, which has made them both very happy. I won’t even delve into the particulars of a certain young lady I’ve told you to avoid, and your refusal to grant my request, in spite of all that I’ve done for you.”

  “Oh, well, young ladies, now, Arthur, you can’t expect him to be alone if he has an affection for a pretty girl. Sometimes a gentleman has to have a beautiful face and soothing voice to ease the pressures of the day.”

  Arthur hadn’t told his father that Will had been watching Catherine, speaking to her when he could, and only just now, standing close to her and daring to touch her in the kitchen when they were alone? Her father seemed like the kind of parent who would strangle him on the spot if Arthur told him, so Will wondered why he hadn’t said anything. Was Arthur giving him a chance to tell him himself, or to change his ways and do as Arthur asked to avoid any repercussions?

  “Your father . . . it had been quite some time since I had seen him when I heard. I was very sorry about what had happened, to the fortune, and to him as a result. I know he always mourned your mother, and now you have lost both parents. Perhaps this traumatic incident had something to do with your memory loss.”

  Oh, if only. If only there was an actual memory loss that could be explained by his father’s suicide. Neither of the men standing in front of him realized that he had never lost any memories, but believed that some had returned to him and he just hadn’t told Arthur. Was Arthur more upset by this, or by Will’s continued contact with his sister?

  He shook his head and took a breath to focus his attention on Arthur and Catherine’s father.

  “No, sir, I don’t believe it did, although I am no expert. The memories I have seem to be recent, after my father . . . my father’s death.”

  As soon as the words tumbled from his lips, he wanted to take them back. If Arthur was angry with him now, though, how much more so would he be if Will confessed to faking his amnesia this entire time? He wanted to close his eyes and pray, but how could he pray for strength to continue a lie?

  “Oh, I’m sorry, are we interrupting?”

  Joe and Anthony, volunteers who had grown up with Arthur and after spending the summer yachting, had been drawn into working at the shelter by Arthur’s enthusiasm and encouragement, suddenly appeared in the doorway. Thank God, Will thought, and then stopped himself. Giving thanks for a way out of explaining himself, for taking the opportunity to make things right between him and the Davenports by telling the entire truth, wasn’t right. Nothing was right about any of this. Nothing but Catherine.

  “Is your sister baking again? Those must be sugar cookies - they smell fantastic. Any chance there are extras for us?”

  Anthony was friendly and always willing to lend a hand regardless of the task. Will knew that Catherine would be happy to spare whatever cookies she could for him and Joe, who everyone knew helped Arthur with the worst of the situations that followed their clients to the shelter door. Some of the people who came for assistance were trouble, and Joe knew how to help them in ways that Arthur didn’t, yet still operating within the law. Will wasn’t sure what it was that Joe did, but Joe was quiet and polite and while Will couldn�
��t imagine him getting his hands dirty, but he also knew that there were ways and ways of dealing with problems.

  Arthur covered his face with his hands and dragged them through his hair as Anthony and Joe waited, watching him like children hoping for approval. Will knew how they felt.

  “I’m sure she’d be able to find a few for you. Father, I think we need to continue this conversation elsewhere. Don’t you agree?”

  Davenport watched Anthony and Joe push around each other to get into the kitchen and laughed.

  “Just imagine that. Our Catherine baking. I don’t think your mother is too pleased by it, but it’s a charming pastime for a young lady. I don’t see how any man could find fault with it. Look at those two, falling over themselves to get a cookie.”

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  “I must say that I’m impressed, and proud of you, Arthur. The success of this establishment, the response your employees have to you, all attest to your leadership skills. Perhaps one day . . .”

  Arthur shook his head, and Will noticed how weary he looked, his eyelids heavy and his face pale.

  “No, sir, I would prefer not to involve myself in your business any more than necessary, but thank you all the same. I appreciate your kind words. And now, I think our friend here needs to clarify a few more points before I will be satisfied with his explanation so far. Would you like to look in on Catherine first, Father?”

  It took Davenport a few steps after he turned around in order to peek into the kitchen, and Will watched him smile and nod.

  “She has them captivated. Something sweet from the kitchen is all it takes sometimes.”

  Will stifled a groan.

  “Why don’t we give Will here a chance to gather his thoughts. Clearly he’s been through some difficulties, and it seems as if you’ve been a bit hard on him, which is unlike you.”