Love, Come to Me

by Lisa Kleypas

  “But I don’t think it’s a waste of time for people to talk about it and listen to others’ opinions on it,” Lucy had persisted. “There’s a lecture about it next week that I’d—”

  “Women will never be allowed to vote. In the first place, they don’t need it. They belong in the home, taking care of their husbands and children, making the home a comfortable and restful haven. And in the second place, when a man votes he speaks not only for himself but for his whole family, so women are well represented in the voting booth.”

  “But what if—”

  “Lucy, it’s a waste of time.”

  She wondered if Daniel would respect her opinions more as they got older. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in what she thought. He just hadn’t been brought up to have much tolerance for women’s ideas about things he considered to be men’s business. Well, most men were like that to some degree. The only difference was that some were a little worse and some were a little better. The only exception she could think of was Heath Rayne. She thought of the brief exchanges she’d had with him at a few sociables and dances—stolen moments. For the sake of her reputation, she had to be careful that no one would notice her talking to him. But she couldn’t help being fascinated by him. While Daniel always had an absolute opinion about everything, Heath seldom seemed convinced of the absoluteness of anything. He always paid full attention to what she said, and while he sometimes liked to argue with her and twist her words around to annoy her, he never told her that what she thought or did was silly.

  “You’re the most manipulative man I’ve ever met,” she had told him at another dance, when he had goaded her into waltzing with him. She hadn’t wanted to accept, since Daniel had been working that night and would undoubtedly hear about it the next day. But somehow Heath knew just how to tease her into doing what he wanted, a fact that sometimes irritated her when she thought about it later on.

  “Me? Manipulate you?” Heath’s blue eyes had been guileless.

  “Whenever I’m happy, you become maddeningly provoking. And when you finally manage to rile me to your satisfaction, you smooth everything all over with wagonloads of compliments. When I’m pleased with myself, you puncture my vanity, and when I’m already up to my hairline in trouble, you manage to get me to do and say ridiculous things. And always you get your own way—”

  “Now wait, honey. You’re not some little puppet. No matter what I do, you’re the one who decides what to do and say. And even if I corner you into doing something, like dancing with me when you’ll probably catch hell for it tomorrow, I always give you a chance to escape. Fact is, Cinda, you don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Yes, I do. Sooner or later, everyone does. Even you. I mean, you didn’t want to have to fight in the war, but you enlisted because you had to, and because—”

  “What gave you the idea that I didn’t want to fight in the war?”

  “But . . . ,” she stammered, flustered, “. . . you said it robs men of humanity.”

  “Yes. Eventually it does. But much as I hate to admit it, Emerson was right about one thing—it does have a way of purifying things. It makes real life seem downright dull. On the battlefield you see the most spectacular extremes that a man can experience—death, bravery, cowardice, heroism—more vivid than anything you can imagine. I’ve been through every emotion there is and felt it deeper, stronger than I ever knew it could be felt.” His reflective mood had disappeared instantly as he looked down at her with a provoking grin. “Every emotion except love.”

  “Then you haven’t met the right woman.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t been looking hard enough.”

  “Oh, I’ve been looking.”

  Lucy thought about that now as the rowboat made its way down the river, and she smiled slowly.

  “What are you thinking about?” Daniel asked, and she shrugged.

  “Nothing in particular.”

  “You’ve been smiling to yourself very often during the past few months.”

  “Is there anything wrong with that? Smiling’s usually a sign that someone is happy.”

  “No. I don’t mind it,” he said, looking mildly perturbed.

  As the congregation of boats approached a bend in the river, a turtle perched on the end of a fallen log to watch them. It plopped in the water when they came closer, attracting the interest of some ducks who floated near the grassy riverbank. Watching the scene, Lucy could hardly believe that the warm, fresh river, filled with the green leaves of water lilies and bordered by willows, had been the same icy, barren place in which she had nearly drowned. More than once she had wanted to tell everyone that she had Heath to thank for her very life. It would have done much for his standing in the town and probably would have opened many a door that was not opened to him now. But neither of them had ever told a soul because of the irreversible damage it would do to her reputation. No one would ever believe that her two-day stay with him had been innocent, not in a small town where rumors stirred up trouble so easily.

  “Luuucy!” came a high, excited voice from the riverbank, where many of the boats and canoes were stopping. It was Sally, who was dressed in white, red, and blue, in honor of the day.

  “Tell her later not to call out and attract attention to you like this,” Daniel said under his breath. “It’s undignified.”

  “Daniel, no one minds. Everyone here is our friend.”

  “Lucy, I thought we had agreed to wear the colors of the flag!” Sally exclaimed. “How unpatriotic it was of you to renege!”

  “I’m not short on patriotism,” Lucy shouted back, her voice dusted with laughter. “I just have fewer dresses than you do.”

  “Never mind. Just tell Daniel to bring you over here.”

  “I dislike being ordered around by a female,” Daniel muttered darkly, causing Lucy to chuckle.

  “Poor darling. Please try to be nice for my sake. She’s my very best friend, and I promised her we would spread our blanket next to hers.”

  “As we do every year . . . so that she can dip into our picnic basket. Everyone knows she can’t cook. Who is she with this time? That no-account farmer? Or Fred Rothford, or that mumbling—”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure that whoever it is . . .” Lucy’s voice disappeared in the back of her throat as she saw a tall figure leaning negligently against a tree trunk while Sally hovered nearby. His broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped form was clad in a white shirt with a soft collar and roomy sleeves, buff-colored trousers, and well-worn boots.

  “For God’s sake,” Daniel hissed, “that’s who Sally’s with? Don’t tell me that I’m going to have to eat lunch with that Confederate!”

  “Daniel,” Lucy said, wondering somewhere in the back of her mind why it took so much effort to produce a mere whisper, “please don’t embarrass me. Don’t embarrass both of us. You can get through forty-five minutes of being civil to him. You don’t have to be friendly—just don’t start a fight.”

  “If he starts one, I’m going to give him what he’s looking for!”

  “He doesn’t want a fight. I’m sure of it. He’s here to enjoy the picnic, just like you are.”

  “Don’t compare the two of us,” Daniel said harshly. “I’m nothing like him.”

  “I agree,” Lucy said feelingly, closing her parasol and breathing a quick prayer for mercy. This was the kind of situation that nightmares were made of.

  After Daniel landed the boat and helped her ashore, she lifted the hem of her skirt and went up the slight incline alone. Daniel rummaged in the rowboat for the picnic basket, taking his time and dawdling with the reluctance of a man who faces an unpleasant task. Sally and Heath met her at the edge of the clearing where the picnic blankets were being spread.

  “You two have met before, so I guess there’s no need for introductions.” Sally’s voice seemed like nothing more than a superfluous drone in the background as Lucy stared into spellbindi
ng blue eyes and felt her pulse accelerate with alarming speed.

  “Miss Caldwell,” Heath said politely, “what an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Is it really an ‘unexpected pleasure’?” Lucy asked as Sally went to help Daniel with the boat.

  “No and yes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “No . . . it’s not unexpected. And yes, it is a pleasure.”

  “You planned this. You’re with Sally because you knew she and I are friends and that the two of you would probably be sitting near Daniel and me at the picnic.”

  “Such modesty. You think that I would be so devious, to go to such lengths for the sake of watching you eat a sandwich?”

  Lucy blushed, embarrassed by his light mockery and aware of how conceited she had sounded. “No, I don’t really think that.”

  “Well, I just might have.”

  She looked up at him and saw that his smile was full of friendly teasing. Sternly she held an answering smile at bay. She was troubled by the feeling that had suddenly come over her, this combination of gladness and nervousness and excitement. As he spoke his voice touched something inside her.

  “Mr. Rayne, I hope our New England humidity doesn’t spoil the picnic for you,” she managed to say.

  “Not at all, Miss Caldwell. I’m used to warmer climates.”

  “Convenient on a day like today.” She was aware that his eyes had made a quick journey from her head to her toes and back again. She was glad that she had chosen one of her prettiest dresses to wear today, made of glowing peach muslin with a sash that tied at the side. It was fastened up the front with buttons made of coral shells, with one pearl peeking out of each shell. As Daniel approached from behind her, Lucy fingered one of the little buttons agitatedly and sent Heath a guarded look.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Rayne,” Daniel said grimly, his mustache twitching with the irritation he felt at having to be cordial to a man he disliked so intensely.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Collier.”

  Lucy was thankful to see that for once there was no taunting smile on Heath’s face. She looked from one man to the other, surprised at how stiff and staid Daniel looked in his rigid collar, plaid vest and trousers—dear Daniel, so dependable and proper, so entirely different from the stylish Southerner. Daniel would always take care of her, and while he may not have been as dashing and exciting as some men, he was solid gold. She suspected that Heath, on the other hand, was about as stable as quicksilver.

  Lucy and Sally managed to fill the hour that it took to eat with vivacious chatter, regaling Heath with stories about what it had been like for all of them to grow up together in Concord. Even Daniel had to smile at some of the tales, especially the ones about the amateur theatricals they and their friends had performed.

  “The best one we ever did,” Sally said, holding back a fit of giggles, “was The Dog Will Have Its Day, a comedy of errors from beginning to end. Written in honor of a stray mutt that Lucy had taken in.”

  Heath smiled. “He must have been a remarkable canine.”

  “Not an ounce of talent,” Lucy said, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Or discipline. He didn’t interpret his part in the way the author had originally intended.”

  “Who was the author?”

  “Lucy, of course,” Sally said. “When we were little, she was always writing theatricals and stories. Some of them were absolutely nifty.”

  “Nifty?” Daniel repeated the unfamiliar word with distaste.

  “Short for magnificent,” Sally translated for him, and giggled.

  Heath looked at Lucy, his eyes warm and speculative. “You like to write. I didn’t know that.”

  “Is there any reason you should have?” Daniel interrupted shortly.

  Heath regarded him expressionlessly. “Not at all.”

  “Whatever happened to that dog?” Sally asked of Lucy, breaking into the conversation hurriedly. “You never really told me. I went to visit relatives one summer, and when I came back he was gone.”

  “I couldn’t talk about it then.” Lucy smiled reminiscently. “Do you remember how he used to run out into the street, yapping at anything that moved? He got caught under a carriage wheel.”

  “How awful,” Sally said sympathetically.

  “Oh, it took me weeks to recover,” Lucy replied lightly. “Ridiculous, to be attached to such a scraggly little thing. He wasn’t very handsome.”

  “He was ugly,” Daniel corrected.

  “I guess he was,” she conceded. “Poor thing. I found him near the milldam when he was no bigger than a fist. Someone had abandoned a litter of puppies, and he was the only one still alive. Father was appalled when I brought the puppy home, but he let me keep it. That dog was a lot of trouble, always getting into things, but you can’t imagine how sweet he was. I never had another pet after that.” Suddenly Lucy’s eyes watered, and she laughed self-consciously while searching for the handkerchief. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what brought this on.”

  “It doesn’t take our Lucy much to boo-hoo.” Sally smiled affectionately and patted her on the back.

  “That’s something that’s going to change,” Daniel said, looking embarrassed and annoyed as he watched Lucy dab at the corners of her eyes. “No one should be so emotional over a dog that died years ago!”

  Lucy flushed at the reprimand and didn’t know where to look. There was a second or two of silence.

  “Well, now,” Heath said gently, “I don’t see anything wrong with a woman having a tender heart.”

  “A woman is supposed to set an example to her children,” Daniel contradicted. “If she doesn’t learn to control her emotions, her children will turn out to be a bunch of mollycoddles who’ll cry as easily as she does.”

  Heath said nothing, his eyes flickering to Lucy’s pinkened face. The depths of his gaze were bright with exasperation. Lucy knew that he was wondering why she didn’t talk back to Daniel, the way she usually did with him. But there was no way that she could make Heath understand how it was between her and Daniel. I don’t need defending from him, she wanted to tell him, and especially not by you! She had to content herself with giving him a “don’t make trouble” look. Heath turned his eyes to the river. The sharp, clean edge of his jaw took on a stubborn slant as he clamped his teeth together.

  “Does anyone want more almond cake?” Lucy asked.

  “At least a dozen pieces,” Sally said, grateful for the change of subject. But the two men were strangely silent, as if neither of them had heard a word.

  Lunch dissolved into leisurely socializing. While the women cleared away the food, repacked the baskets, and folded the blankets, the men gathered together to exchange bits of masculine talk and jokes that were not considered fit for the ears of ladies. Lucy and Sally sat together, talking with shared relief after Heath and Daniel separated and went to different groups.

  “I never dreamed there’d be a problem with putting those two together,” Sally said, shaking her head in dismay. “Daniel’s always been so . . . so sweet, so friendly to everyone, so gentlemanly. And Mr. Rayne—why, he’s one of the most charming men I’ve ever met, even if he is a traitor and a Rebel.”

  “For Daniel it’s still too soon after the war to be friends with a Southerner,” Lucy explained quietly. “Daniel can’t forget what the Confederates did to some of his friends. Even though Hea . . . Mr. Rayne didn’t do anything against him personally, the fact is they both fought on opposite sides and neither of them can forget it.”

  “I always thought the Confederates were mean and wild,” Sally remarked thoughtfully. “He doesn’t seem to be—”

  “Of course not. He’s a man just like Daniel or any of the rest of our friends.”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that,” Sally began, and then she was interrupted by the volley of rifle shots and masculine whoops that came from a meadow far beyond the picnic ground. “A shooting match,” she said, her voice rising in pitch with her excitement. “So that’s where they all went. Dan
iel and his friends are at it again.”

  “I’ll be glad when they grow out of it,” Lucy said, standing up and arranging her dress properly before going with Sally to the clearing. Several of the couples and groups they passed on the way were grumbling about the noise that disrupted the formerly peaceful picnic—the boys setting off firecrackers, the men aiming rifle shots at cans, the girls giggling loudly with each other. None of the complaints were serious, however, since they all knew that such things were to be expected on the Fourth of July.

  Lucy and Sally gossiped and laughed as they made their way across the small clearing to the meadow where the men had gone. They weren’t hesitant about invading the privacy of the shooting match because the men were always pleased to be watched and admired by a female audience. Lucy felt immense pride and pleasure in Daniel’s performance at the matches. He was the best marksman in Concord—maybe the best in Massachusetts. During the war, sharpshooters had been valued highly, since the average marksman had used up more than two hundred pounds of powder and almost nine hundred pounds of lead to shoot just one Confederate.

  Daniel had received many medals and a great deal of recognition in the war, a fact that was never forgotten by the people of Concord. They were all proud of him for having fought so well for them and the Union. Many people had joked to Lucy that Daniel no longer belonged just to her but to all of them. Of course she never failed to agree, but what no one seemed to understand was that she wasn’t always happy about it. It would have been nice, she reflected wistfully, if Daniel didn’t care quite so much about what other people thought—if he belonged not to all of them but to her alone.

  At the edge of the meadow David Fraser was standing about 150 yards away from a fallen log that had been braced up on two stumps. Carefully he lifted a Spencer rifle and took his time aiming at one of the seven tin cans lined up on top of the log. He fired, and the empty cartridge case fell to the ground. Several of the men chuckled and ribbed David good-naturedly, for the seven cans continued to sit placidly in their perfect row.