Against the Wind

by Gwynne Forster

  She blew him a kiss through the wire, hung up and was soon dreaming about him.

  * * *

  As if Jordan had been away for years, Leslie and Julia prepared a feast in honor of his return. About twelve-fifteen that Saturday afternoon, they heard the Town Car ease into the garage. Julia rushed out to meet Jordan as he closed the garage door, but Leslie stayed inside, while Julia told Jordan of the death of his brother and sister-in-law and of Clifford’s arrival. After a few minutes, Leslie walked out of the kitchen and stopped on the steps a few feet from the garage.

  Jordan walked quickly to where Leslie stood, composed and regal with her hands clasped in front of her, and stared down at her. The promises in her eyes sent his blood roaring through his body, and he knew his own eyes pledged her everything. All that he had ever wanted, needed to see in a woman’s eyes shone in her slumberous gaze. He stepped closer, near enough to touch her. But instead, he only looked into her rapturous face, reading in it all that her unspoken words told him When her face bloomed into a smile, warm, loving and inviting, his heart leaped into a spin. Then, for anyone who wanted to see it, he removed his hat and folded her in his arms.

  She whispered, “Thank God, you’re home safe.” And he lowered his head and covered her lips with his own. Let them think what they liked; he didn’t care, and he didn’t intend to keep what he felt for her a secret.

  He broke the kiss, though heaven knows he didn’t want to, and looked at the social worker’s card. “Come go to Easton with me. I’m going to check this out.”

  She’d never been to Easton, the county seat, and had no idea where it was. “Right now? What about dinner?”

  He put the card back in his pocket, splayed his hand in the small of her back and started with her toward his car. “Easton’s twenty-two miles from here. Dinner’ll have to wait. Today’s Saturday, but I’ll call in some favors. Clifford sleeps here tonight.”

  He greeted Clifford, seeing in the boy a likeness to himself and to his own father. “I’m sorry about your folks, son,” he said. “From now on, your home is here with me. You’re all the kin I have and, as far as I know, I’m all you have.” He put both arms around the little boy and hugged him. Clifford hugged him back so fiercely that Jordan knew the boy had been worried about the reception he’d get from his uncle. He held the child for a while, then he scrutinized his face.

  “I understand you want to be assured that from now on, you’ll stay with me, that you’re sick of moving around.”

  Clifford looked over at Leslie and smiled, as though recognizing an ally. “Yes, sir, that’s right. That’s what I told the social worker. Am I staying?”

  Jordan grinned, liking the boy’s spunk. “Well, Clifford, I also have a few requests to make. If you can manage them, you and I will get on fine. Don’t ever lie to me, Clifford. Always do what you know is right, always! I expect you to keep your word, and I’ll keep my word to you. And you must obey me. I’m your blood uncle. But you must also obey the other adults in my home. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

  An hour and forty-five minutes later, Jordan drove Leslie and his nephew to the front of his white Georgian home and let them out. “I’ll be inside in a minute.”

  When he walked into the dining room, they’d already seated themselves at the table, along with Cal and Julia.

  Jordan looked around the table and settled his eyes on Leslie. He tried to avoid looking at her, too often during the meal, but ten days away from her and his eyes couldn’t get enough. He knew he had to bank the fires raging within him, because her reserved manner told him that she wasn’t ready for what he needed and what he needed to give her. Clifford seemed to have attached himself to Leslie, and he didn’t blame the boy; she’d gotten to him, too. No one spoke. Cal never uttered an unnecessary word, but Julia usually found something to say. Then he realized they all had focused their attention on him, waiting to know about his plans for Clifford and for the stud farm. He sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair.

  “Clifford, you and I are going to spend Monday together. We’re going to enroll you in school and buy you whatever you need.” Later, alone with Clifford in his office, he allayed the boy’s fears.

  “This is your home now. I want us to be like father and son. Whenever you need me, no matter what for, I’ll always be here for you. Don’t forget that.”

  Clifford rested his elbows on his uncle’s knees, testing his right to do so, and looked up at him, already in love with the man. Jordan stroked the boy’s thin shoulders gently, recalling the day nearly three decades earlier when his uncle had sat in that same room and said similar words to him. He hoped he’d do a better job of parenting than his uncle Riddick had done. But for Cal, he would have been rootless.

  Clifford treated Jordan to his own brand of Saber charisma, giving him a brilliant smile before testing the water. “Unca Jordan, can Leslie go with us Monday?”

  “Sure, if she wants to. What’s the matter?” he asked when Clifford rubbed his stomach. “Did you eat too much?”

  He took his own measure of the problem when Clifford dropped his head, not bothering to cover up his shame. “I guess so. I had most of a pan of cookies for dessert. You’re not angry, are you?”

  “Why should I be angry? What you did wasn’t smart, and now you know it. I don’t think you’ll do that again.”

  “No, sir. Not as long as cats scratch, Unca Jordan. You can believe that.”

  Jordan raised his left eyebrow. Where had that come from? It wasn’t anything his brother Haskell would have said.

  After supper, Jordan got Cal’s report on events during his absence, called Turner and learned that their mystery man had asked his department at the university for a character reference on him. Jordan didn’t agree with Turner that they might have misjudged the nature of the man’s interest in Leslie. The man that Jordan had confronted on the Estates and had seen later in Dexter was not an honest man, and he hadn’t seemed the type to go to a university for any kind of information. Well, his judgment wasn’t infallible. He told Turner about his plans for the stud farm and learned of Turner’s ideas for computer programs that would simplify farm and animal husbandry management.

  A frown clouded his face at Turner’s boldness when he said, “What are you doing about Leslie? You’ve got first dibs, man, and you’d better make the most of it. That girl’s a gem. But if you don’t want her, tell me in plain words. I need to know.”

  He didn’t want to discuss Leslie with Turner or anybody else, but the man had just admitted having an interest in her. “I thought I told you to back off from Leslie.”

  “You did, and I have. But Jordan, if you can see her, so can every other man. I thought you wanted her. Don’t you?”

  Jordan gave in. “Yes. But I’ve got to get the matter of this man cleared up. I’ve been clobbered once, and I’m not stupid enough to let it happen again.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her who he is?” Good question, but he knew she was too frightened of the man to reveal his identity. Anyway, he considered his problems with Leslie to be his own business.

  “Yeah. Well, if you learn anything else, give me a call. And thanks, man.”

  “Right. Give the folks my best.” He hung up.

  * * *

  Night fell, and Jordan leaned his hip against the banister on the front porch. In the cool of the evening, trees swayed gently in the light breeze that brought with it the smell of chestnuts roasting over in the men’s lodgings and a frosty reminder of the coming winter. He looked up at the stars and at the half-moon lying on its back. For ten nights, he’d tossed in his bed in a lonely, barely serviceable motel room, wanting her. He hadn’t slept. Nothing, neither cold showers, counting sheep, deep breathing nor yoga postures had tempered his desire for her. He hadn’t even considered finding an old girlfriend, because he’d known that it would be useless. When he’d looked up and seen her standing there on the steps waiting for him to make the first move,
his heartbeat had accelerated at an almost frightening pace, and it had taken all of the control that he could muster not to pull her into his arms and unleash his passion. He could stop asking himself whether he loved her. For the first time in his life, he truly cherished a woman, put her interest above his own and wanted her exclusively.

  After supper, he had allowed Leslie to set the pace, let her take the lead. And what had she done? She had gone to him, kissed his left cheek and told him good night, as if nothing else was to be expected. Julia had been speechless, her expression confirming the incredibleness of the scene. But she hadn’t been as shocked as he. That Leslie had done that in Julia’s presence was out of character; that she had done it at all was nearly incomprehensible. Going to her right then was out of the question. So was going to sleep. He’d have to sweat it out.

  * * *

  And he was not alone. Leslie hadn’t slept in her apartment since Jordan had left for Kentucky, and while she’d lived in the house, she had begun to feel as if she were a part of a family. Going back to that old arrangement, living apart from Jordan, Julia and Cal, had brought her back to reality. She wasn’t one of them, and no matter what Jordan felt for her, the future held nothing for them. She knew she’d disappointed him, shocked him was probably more like it, but she didn’t want to be a victim, duped by her own passion and her need for his love. And if she let herself behave with him in the way that she wanted and which seemed so natural, she’d be lost. He wanted them to get to know each other as friends, and she’d agreed, but she had no intention of plunging into an affair with him.

  She rolled over, twisting the top sheet around her body, symbolically binding herself when what she wanted most was freedom in his arms. He’d kissed her in front of half the people who worked for him, a public declaration that she was more to him than his cook. And to what end? She could imagine Ossie’s disgust, and she heard again Julia’s words of caution: Many a person has drowned swimming against the tide.

  She tossed until the bedding confined her entire body, as one mummified for all time. Exasperated at herself, she got up. No matter what she told herself or how she rationalized, the big hole in her chest wouldn’t go away. He roamed at will in her mind, saturated her thoughts and warmed her blood. She put on her robe and stepped out on the balcony in the crisp, September night. Maybe if she got chilled, the heat that seared her body would go away. She heard footsteps and stepped quickly back into her apartment. Carefully, she pulled back the curtain and gasped as she saw Jordan place a booted foot on the bottom rail of the fence and look off into the distance. A glance at her clock told her it was three o’clock in the morning. Her body wanted to go to him, but her mind immobilized her. She couldn’t take that step.

  * * *

  “I thought you wanted me to drive over to Westminster before we went back home, Leslie. We’ve got time,” Jordan said the following Monday morning on their drive with Clifford into Dexter. “What changed your mind?”

  He figured something had happened to dampen her interest in that trip because she had been so enthusiastic, and now didn’t appear to want to go.

  “Well, I don’t want to put you out. Besides, by the time you get Clifford’s affairs straightened out, there won’t be time.”

  Jordan reduced the speed, took his gaze from the highway and glanced at Leslie. “What had you wanted to do there?”

  “I wanted Clifford to meet Mom Haynes and her two younger daughters. After all, the Hayneses are my family. All that I have, anyway.” Jordan stared at her. “Lady, you have the ability to madden me. Your family! Hell, your family is out at Saber Estates, whether you like it or not. We’ll go if we have time after we get Clifford enrolled and fitted out for school. All right?”

  When he patted her hand and winked at her, warm contentment swirled around her, and she nodded her agreement, leaned back in the bucket seat and closed her eyes.

  They discovered that registering Clifford wasn’t so simple. He’d been in seven different schools during the past year, thanks partly to the inability of school officials to find a suitable school for him, as he performed at a level beyond his age. In addition, his parents had lived in two different states in the months just prior to the accident that took their lives. Jordan suppressed what would have been a sharp whistle when he saw that the boy’s report cards indicated a superior intellect.

  “He’ll have to go to a school for gifted children, probably in Baltimore,” the principal told them.

  Both of Jordan’s eyebrows shot up when he got his first indication of what it would be like to raise Clifford.

  “I’ll go anywhere, sir,” Clifford told the principal, “if I can stay at the school long enough to make friends, and if I don’t have to stay away from Leslie and my Unca Jordan. I’m not going to leave my Unca Jordan.”

  The three of them watched as his chin went up and his chest out, while he tilted his head defiantly to the side and gave the principal a very level stare.

  Jordan nearly laughed. This eight-year-old kid was taking a man’s measure. The principal viewed the matter with less approbation, however, and advised Jordan that, if Clifford went to public school, he would adjust more satisfactorily if he had a good tutor.

  “We don’t want to risk his losing interest in school because of boredom,” the principal said.

  “Fine. If you can recommend a qualified teacher, I’ll hire him, or her.” He looked at Leslie and grinned, daring her to accuse him of being a chauvinist.

  They shopped for the things Clifford would need for school, and the thought returned to him repeatedly that the boy had known difficult times. And he wondered at Leslie’s silence, her apparent withdrawal from them when, minutes earlier, her enthusiasm and gaiety had matched Clifford’s, reminding him of the way he felt in warm sunshine on a winter day. He shook his head and pushed back his sadness. Every time he thought he’d gotten close to her, she did something, knowingly or not, that told him how wrong he’d been.

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and stared at Leslie, searching for the gentleness, compassion and sweetness that drew him to her, nail to magnet. That could tie him in knots and make him long for her and want her when she was miles away from him.

  The saleswoman handed Clifford his parcels, and the boy’s grin of happiness enveloped them as he reached for Leslie’s hand. She wrapped her fingers around Clifford’s, and his heart jumped into a fast trot as he gazed upon her brilliant, answering smile, her somber mood of minutes earlier nowhere in evidence.

  Jordan luxuriated in her sweetness as she openly adored him for the happiness he’d given Clifford. The look in her soft brown eyes sent pure joy zinging through him, and he walked over to her. But he didn’t touch her. It was too dangerous. When he touched her again, he wanted them to be alone, in total privacy and with plenty of time for what was ahead of them.

  They left the store with Clifford dancing between them, and he envisioned them as a couple with a child. Their child. He corralled his thoughts when, from the corner of his right eye, he saw a lone man, a familiar figure, watching them from the doorway of the post office across the street. He didn’t want to draw Leslie’s attention to the man, so he stared straight ahead. If the stranger had wondered as to her whereabouts, those doubts were now dispelled.

  * * *

  Leslie wished Jordan wouldn’t create intimate scenes between them when they were in public places. Yet, his boldness enticed her. As if he couldn’t stand there and not touch her, not have some physical contact with her, he had started toward her. Slowly. Purposeful. Graceful. A gazelle in slow motion. Her gaze had glued itself to him as the excitement of not knowing what he’d do took hold of her. He must have read her well, for his eyes had seemed ablaze with wildfire and determination, with a recklessness that she hadn’t seen in him before. He hadn’t touched her, and she’d been glad. When Clifford had looked from Jordan to her and back to his uncle, she’d known she hadn’t imagined their unspoken exchange. Jordan had made her a promise, a pledge
that she would one day belong to him, however ephemerally, and she knew he meant to keep it. She also knew that if she made love with him, she would never again belong to herself. He continued to gaze into her eyes, silently telling her what she wanted to hear, but feared knowing, and she struggled helplessly against the tide that engulfed her.

  When he looked at his Rolex and announced that they had time for a visit with her foster mother, she resigned herself to the inevitable.

  “You want Clifford to meet her,” he said, “but I also want to get to know her.”

  She wanted to ask him why, but thought better of it, since she knew where such a question would lead. “In that case, prepare to eat. For her, being hospitable and feeding you amounts to the same thing.”

  Clifford wanted to know what she would feed him. “You’ll like it,” she told him, “because it’s bound to be sweet.”

  She didn’t feel like being jovial. If Faron Walker still hung around the Haynes place and saw her with Jordan, he’d have no doubt as to where he could find her, and that was why she hadn’t wanted them to visit her foster mother. Jordan turned the Town Car toward the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and headed for Westminster. He flipped on the radio, and when sounds from Chet Atkins’ magic fingers filled the car, Clifford leaned over Leslie’s shoulder.

  “The guitar is my absolute most favorite instrument. You think I can learn to play it, Leslie?”

  “What kind of music do you want to play?” Jordan asked him.

  “Every kind. I just love the guitar, Unca Jordan. I wanna play like Wes Montgomery, Chet Atkins, and Segovia. My dad had a lot of their records. That’s Chet Atkins playing right now.”

  “I know it is,” Jordan said. “And I remember that Haskell loved the guitar. Both of us did, and when I was your age and a little older, we used to play together. As I recall, he was very good.”

  Clifford shifted toward Jordan and braced his hands against the driver’s seat. “Do you think you could teach me to play? Just a little bit, Unca Jordan. Can you?”