An Unlikely Love

by Dorothy Clark

  It would be better than sitting alone in the tent remembering. She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Yes, I am.” She started back down the path, glanced over at Clarice. “Would you like me to carry that box for a bit? You must get tired of carrying it around.”

  “No, thank you—though you are kind to offer.” Clarice looked down and patted the box. “I always keep these writing supplies with me. I never know when something will happen that will fit into an article, or even become one.”

  “Such as when I embarrassed myself in front of Dr. Austin?” And Grant Winston. Her stomach sank at the thought, though he’d been most kind and treated her faux pas with humor.

  “Exactly! That incident inspired me to go an entirely different direction with my article for the Sunday School Journal. And it will make it ever so much better. Thank you.”

  Marissa dipped her head. “You’re very welcome—as long as I remain anonymous.”

  “You shall.” Clarice stepped out from the cover of the trees along the path. “Oh, my! Only look at that crowd! How am I ever to make my way to a place by the musicians?”

  “How are you ever going to find the musicians?” She stepped close to the trees, out of the way of the people coming off the path, and stared in amazement at the land on their right. People surrounded the striped canopy that had been erected at the edge of the lake, and from the canopy to the trees at the base of the hill there was no land visible, only people. Most of them were seated on the ground. Those coming were milling about, looking for a place to sit. The blend of their voices as they chatted with one another put her in mind of a swarm of bees.

  “Well, I’d best hurry. Dusk is falling and the concert will be starting soon.” Clarice looked at her. “Are you coming?”

  “Not I!” She smiled and gave a fake shudder. “You shall have to brave that crowd by yourself. I will listen to the music from over there—” she gestured to the empty shore on the other side of the path “—in solitude.”

  “Coward.” Clarice clutched her box tight to her chest. “I’ll see you at the tent if I survive!”

  * * *

  Grant glanced over his shoulder again. People were still streaming by on the path outside. Something was drawing them. Perhaps this was the opportunity for the “chance” meeting with Marissa he’d been thinking about. He slipped off the bench and stepped out from under the canopy making as little disturbance as possible. He’d already lost track of the experiment, but it didn’t pertain to farming anyway. There was nothing in today’s session that would help him with the vineyard, and it was getting dark. He frowned at the dusky light and pulled his watch from his pocket. The steamer would be leaving soon. The “chance” meeting with Marissa would have to wait until tomorrow. With all the people crowding the path, he’d be fortunate to reach the shore in time to catch the steamer for home. Unless there was another way.

  A narrow trail on his left parted the woods. Light filtering through the branches of the trees lit its downward slope. He glanced back at the crowd on the main path, entered the woods and followed the winding way. The sound of voices faded, gave way to birds twittering their night songs. He stepped cautiously through a cluster of pines where it was too dark to see clearly and entered a clearing. Tents formed rows laid out like streets to his left and right. Children laughed and played games, chased one another in and out of the trees. Adults talked over cooking fires. The smell of coffee tantalized his nose. He took a deep sniff, looked around. The path had disappeared.

  A woman wearing a long apron straightened from a cooking fire, rubbed her back and looked his way. “You took the wrong path if you’re going to the concert. Or else you don’t care if you get there late.” She motioned to her left. “The main path is a short piece that way.”

  He smiled his gratitude. “Thank you. I thought this trail might be a faster way to the shore. Obviously, I was wrong.” He gave her another smile. “Did you say there was a concert tonight?”

  The woman nodded and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Down on the shore. Isn’t that where you was headed? It seems like everybody is going—except those of us with young’uns to watch over. You’d best hurry if you hope to attend. It started at dusk.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Perhaps I will attend.” He smiled and dipped his head. “Have a good evening.”

  “And you. Mind your step, there’s pines along that path and their roots will trip the unwary.”

  The woman’s words followed him into the darkness beneath the pines. He picked his way to the wider path and started down, joined with others coming out of narrow side paths and clearings to merge with the crowd ahead of him. He wasn’t the only one late for the concert. There had to be a hundred or more people within his limited scope of vision.

  He scanned the crowd for Marissa’s blond curls as he walked, though he knew it for a fruitless effort. The dusky light made all of the ladies’ hair seem dark. He snorted at his own foolishness and glanced up at the darkening sky. It wouldn’t be long now until the Colonel Phillips made its last run of the day. He’d sit on the dock and listen to the music until they ran out the gangplank and he could go aboard.

  Music sounded in the distance. He followed those ahead of him out of the trees onto the shore, stopped and stared. The failing light made it difficult to see, but he was almost certain... He smiled and started forward.

  * * *

  Marissa lifted her hems and moved closer to the lake. A warm, gentle breeze carrying soft music from the concert down the lakefront caressed her face and fluttered the curls at her forehead and temples. She stopped and brushed back the curls, gazed at the Colonel Phillips floating on the silvered water at the end of the dock, its lanterns golden orbs against the evening sky.

  May I assist you to your destination? Sun-streaked hair above a handsome face with a disarming smile rushed back from the oblivion to which she’d assigned them. Seeing Grant Winston at the dining hall this afternoon had brought back the memories of him on the boat. She sighed and shook her head. It was foolishness to entertain romantic thoughts about a man she would likely never see again. But he was so nice. And it was such a perfect night for dreaming...

  “Miss Bradley?”

  She froze. It couldn’t be. She turned, stared at the object of her dreaming. “Mr. Winston!” Heat rushed across her cheeks.

  “At your service.” He smiled and dipped his head.

  She nodded a greeting, pressed her hand over her pounding heart and struggled to order her scattered thoughts.

  A frown pulled his straight dark eyebrows together. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Bradley. But you were so lost in thought you didn’t notice me.”

  Thoughts about him! The heat in her cheeks increased. She fussed with a fold in her skirt for an excuse to put her head down. “I was admiring the sight of the Colonel Phillips against the night sky.” Don’t mention the steamer! “And the lake, of course. Even the silvered water is lovely—from a safe distance.” She pressed her lips together to stop her babbling. There was no point in letting the man see that the unfortunate timing of his appearance had her completely undone. It served her right for dreaming about him.

  A smile curved his lips. “There is no quivering deck under your feet here.”

  It wasn’t her feet that were quivering. It was her stomach. She lifted her head, gave him a polite, if somewhat forced, smile and groped for a change of subject. “How did you find me?” Oh, dear. She’d made it sound as if he were on a quest of some sort! “I mean, what do you want?” And that was worse! She stared at him, aghast at her lack of manners.

  His gaze traveled slowly over her face, came to rest on her eyes.

  The apology she was about to offer died on her lips.

  “You have a penchant for standing alone away from the crowd, Miss Bradley. And you ar
e the only person on this part of the shore. I took a chance that it was you.”

  His gaze held hers. He had warm brown eyes. So...warm... The quivering spread to her knees. She broke the eye contact, clenched her hands to keep from pressing them against her stomach and wished he’d stop talking long enough that she could gather her wits together.

  “Would you care to stroll with me along the shoreline until it is time for my steamer to leave, Miss Bradley?”

  Did he think her bold like Clarice? She pushed at her curls, pretended to adjust her hat to stall for time. His request was innocent enough to be acceptable. What could she say? I’m sorry, Mr. Winston, but you make me nervous? It wasn’t his fault that she’d been dreaming. She looked down at his offered arm, nodded and slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow. It felt natural and secure, as if it belonged there. She thrust the thought from her, lifted her hems with her free hand and strolled beside him.

  “Did you come to the shore for the concert, Miss Bradley? Or only to admire the view of the lake by night?”

  “I came for the concert—along with everyone else here at Chautauqua, it seems. I’ve never seen so many people in one place. Which is why I am on this side of the dock.” She gave a small laugh, focused her thoughts on answering his question to keep from thinking about his closeness. “The loveliness of the lake view was a pleasant surprise.” She looked at the water slipping along the shore at his side. “Although I cannot say I find it so at the moment. Now that I’m close, the water simply looks dark and dangerous.”

  “It’s not that way once you know how to swim. It’s really quite refreshing to dive into the water on a hot summer’s day.”

  His smile was too charming. “Ah...” She gave him a sidelong look and shook her head. “I shall no longer be ashamed of my cowardice concerning water, Mr. Winston. I see now why you were so comfortable on the steamer. You live on the lake. Though I still cannot see how that can make diving into its water enjoyable.” She gave a mock shudder.

  He chuckled and turned so that they headed back toward the dock. “I have misled you, Miss Bradley. I live in Mayville and our home is not on Chautauqua Lake, though our land borders it. I learned to swim in a small pond on our property when I was four years old.”

  “So young?” She halted and looked up at him. “Weren’t your mother and father concerned for your safety?”

  That deep chuckle rolled from his chest. “They no doubt would have been, had they known about it.” A grin slanted across his mouth. “I fell in the pond.”

  She gasped, pressed her hand to the base of her throat. “Who saved you?”

  “No one. My wild flailing and kicking eventually got me to the bank. After that I dove in the pond on purpose.” He laughed, tucked her hand back through his arm and started walking again. “I can tell by your horrified expression you’ve not had any similar experience.”

  “I should hope not, Mr. Winston!”

  “There are no lakes or ponds for swimming where you live?”

  Not after we moved from the farm. The thought sobered her. She closed her mind to the memories. “No. I live in Fredonia.”

  “Ah. Then it is more likely that you are surrounded by vineyards than lakes or ponds.”

  “Our home is in the town.” The answer was curt, bordering on the impolite, but she wanted no questions about her home. And no conversation about vineyards!

  He stopped, looked down at her. “I hope you won’t think me overly forward, Miss Bradley, but I sense that these two weeks at the Chautauqua Assembly are different. People have come from all over the country, and we must make friends quickly. Thus, strict rules of etiquette have to be relaxed. Would you do me the honor of addressing me by my given name—in private, only if you choose?”

  “Why, I—”

  “I would not ask such freedom of you, but for the special circumstance of Chautauqua. My name is Grant.”

  There was sincerity in his voice and in his eyes. Dare she defy propriety? She caught her breath and nodded. “Very well. Because of Chautauqua...Grant.” Her cheeks warmed. She looked away.

  “Thank you, Miss—”

  “Marissa.” Forgive me, Mother. She made herself look up at him, to read what was in his eyes at her boldness.

  “Marissa...”

  The Colonel Phillips blasted its horn.

  She jumped.

  He looked at the steamer at the end of the dock, frowned and looked back at her. “The gangplank’s being set in place. I have to go.” He released her arm, stepped toward the dock, then returned to her. “I will be back for the science class tomorrow evening. May I see you when it’s over, Marissa? If you will tell me where you’re living—”

  The steamer’s horn gave its last warning.

  “There’s no time for directions.” He trotted backward toward the dock. “Will you meet me at the hotel? At dusk tomorrow?”

  She swallowed the last of her inhibition and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  “Until then!” He smiled, turned and ran up the dock and onto the steamer.

  She stood rooted to the spot, shocked by what she’d done. But when he’d looked at her...

  “There you are, Marissa.”

  She started, glanced over her shoulder.

  Clarice walked up beside her and looked toward the steamer. “Was that Mr. Winston?

  “Mr. Boat Man.” She laughed and hastened to change the subject, lest Clarice start taking notes for her story. She’d embarrassed herself enough. Her plunge from the rules of society would remain her guilty secret. “Are you through working for the day?”

  “I am. Until I get back to the tent and put my notes in order.” Clarice waved her hand back toward the hill. “Shall we leave the throng?”

  “Yes, of course.” She glanced back at the lake. The Colonel Phillips was rounding the point. Grant was gone. Until tomorrow night. Her pulse skipped. Her guilt swelled. She composed herself, lifted her hems and followed Clarice up the hill.

  Chapter Three

  He’d done it. He’d found Marissa Bradley. Well, truth be told, it wasn’t his efforts that had brought them together tonight. Grant threw his tie over the back of the Windsor chair, sat and yanked off his shoes. His mother would say the Lord had taken a hand. He frowned, shook his head. He was a man of faith, but he was also a man of science, and that was difficult to swallow. Still...

  He had given up. The lateness of the hour and the multiple hundreds of people sitting on the grass or milling around listening to the concert had him admitting defeat. But seeing her standing on a deserted portion of the shore was serendipitous, to say the least. His mother would, of a certainty, say it was God.

  He crossed to his bed and flopped down onto his back. Marissa was beautiful. His pulse quickened. He laced his hands behind his head and stared up at the plastered ceiling, remembered the way she’d looked with the soft evening light falling on her upturned face, glowing in her blue eyes. Truly beautiful. The delicate cast of her features, the cleanly arched eyebrows over her long-lashed blue eyes, her finely molded nose and cheekbones, soft, full mouth and small, rounded chin were perfection.

  He jerked to his feet and walked over to his window, opened it to the warm August night and looked toward the lake. He’d met beautiful young women before. Paid court to a few until he’d lost interest. That was what he had intended to do with Marissa Bradley—see her a few times, satisfy his curiosity about the sadness in her eyes and then say goodbye. But tonight, when he’d looked into her eyes in that first, unguarded moment, something had happened—something beyond the jolt of his heart. There’d been a knowing in him that was irrefutable. A sort of...connection he didn’t understand and couldn’t explain. Whatever it was, it was foolish in the light of reason and knowledge. It was also undeniable. It was still there.

  He frowned, looke
d down at the grapevines silvered by the moonlight, turned and headed for his dressing room. He was a young, healthy man. Miss Bradley was a beautiful young woman. His was a simple physical reaction, easily explained by science. He had no reason, time or inclination to examine his response to her more fully than that. He had a busy day tomorrow with the coming harvest to prepare for. The matter of Miss Marissa Bradley would straighten itself out. The odd feeling was, no doubt, because of the circumstances of their meeting—a chance encounter in highly unlikely circumstances was intriguing. That’s all it was. The attraction of mystery. He was a man who liked to find answers. The feeling would go away after his planned meeting with Marissa tomorrow night.

  “Marissa...” He turned on the tap, shrugged out of his shirt and splashed water on his face. The name suited her. It was soft and beautiful and...haunting. He toweled off, tugged on his nightshirt, turned down the wick in the oil lamp and headed for bed, Marissa Bradley’s name and beautiful face lingering in his mind.

  * * *

  Marissa tugged the quilt up closer around her chin and stared at the sloping canvas roof over her cot.

  I took a chance that it was you.

  A tingle ran up her spine. Grant had come to walk with her. The other meetings might have been accidental, but tonight, he’d chosen to come and spend time with her. And he wanted to see her tomorrow night. Her pulse quickened, shot energy through her. She turned onto her side, winced at the crackle of the corn husks in the mattress and glanced over at Clarice. Her tent mate was sound asleep in spite of the snores and snorts issuing from the tents around them. Nothing seemed to disturb her.

  She edged closer to the side of her cot and slipped her legs out from under the covers, froze at the sound of footsteps outside their tent. She drew her legs back under the covers and waited. Moonlight threw a misshapen shadow on the canvas. She watched it float across the wall and disappear, then quickly climbed out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers. A quick flick of her wrist freed the mass of long curls she’d secured with a ribbon at the nape of her neck from beneath the collar so she could close and button the quilted gown.