Mrs. Winston reached out and touched her arm. “Grant told me of your brother’s recent passing, Miss Bradley. I’m sorry for your loss. Perhaps we can comfort one another. I’m sure you will understand that I find myself at...a loss. Our friends have returned to their homes for the evening, and you do owe me a visit.” Grant’s mother drew a breath, gave her another smile. “Now...If you will excuse me, I will go and get our lemonade. The weather is so pleasant I believe we’ll have our visit on the back porch.” Her gaze lifted to her son. “Grant...”
“May I escort you to the back porch, Marissa?” He stepped from behind her and made a slight bow.
She looked after Mrs. Winston remembering her own mother’s collapse when Lincoln died. “Your mother is amazing, Grant. There’s a...a strength and a serenity about her I noticed the other day that’s still there, even in her grief.”
He nodded and took hold of her elbow. “My mother is very strong. It’s her faith.” He led her through the sitting room and opened the door onto the back porch. “She misses my father dreadfully. But she knows they will be together again in Heaven one day and that comforts her. And she firmly believes that when you have given your heart to the Lord and become His child, He watches over you and will work a blessing for you into every situation.” He held a chair for her at a small round table. “That’s you.”
The look in his eyes stole her concentration. “What...is me?”
“Mother’s blessing. And mine...” He leaned down. Her pulse leaped.
“Mr. Winston.”
She jumped and jerked back against the chair, heat flooding into her cheeks at sight of the man striding up the stone path.
“Can’t a man have any privacy?” Grant growled the words under his breath then glanced out over the railing. “Coming, Joe!” A frown creased his forehead. “It looks as if I have some business to take care of in the vineyard. I’ll be back as soon as possible, Marissa.” He touched her shoulder, turned and trotted down the porch steps.
She rose, stepped to the railing and watched him hurry down the walk. The man spoke and gestured down the slope. Grant nodded and both men disappeared downhill. Her stomach tightened. She turned away from the sight of the lush trellised grapevines. Thankfully, Grant would not be managing the vineyard much longer—only until he found a man to replace him. And when that situation was resolved, perhaps—
“Grant, will you get the door please?”
The muffled words pulled her from her dreaming. She rushed to the door on the other side of the table and pulled it open. “Grant was called away by a man from the vineyard. He said he would return as soon as possible. May I carry that tray for you, Mrs. Winston?”
“Thank you, dear. But the table is only a few steps. And I find it helps if I do things.”
“Yes...” Her mind flashed back to those first days after Lincoln’s death when her mother had taken to her bed and refused to get up. Was it Mrs. Winston’s faith that gave her strength, as Grant had said? It was anger that had motivated her. It still did. She moved to the chair she’d vacated and sat while his mother set out three small plates then poured lemonade into two of the three glasses filled with bits of ice.
“I’m sorry Grant had to leave us, Miss Bradley, but I’m afraid the grapes take precedence over everything during harvest—even a guest.” His Mother smiled and handed her one of the cool, filled glasses. “But I’m not sorry you are here to keep me company while he works. It will give us a chance to become better acquainted. I hope you don’t mind, but my curiosity was aroused by the...er...unusual way we met, and, as it was obvious that you two knew each other, I asked Grant about you. He said your family lives in Fredonia?”
“Yes.” How much had Grant told his mother? “We lived on a farm until we moved into town five years ago, so I understand about the demands of a harvest.” She sipped her lemonade, thankful to be off the subject of grapes, but leery of what was to come. “Mmm, this is delicious.”
“I brought out sugar in case it is a bit too tart for your taste. Grant prefers his lemonade on the sour side the same as—the way his father liked it.” Mrs. Winston lowered her gaze a moment, then drew in a breath and looked back up. “Forgive me, Miss Bradley. Andrew and I sat here often, especially after his accident. He loved to look out over the vines. They become a part of your life...” Her smile trembled. “Are you enjoying your Chautauqua experience, Miss Bradley? You seem young to be giving lectures.”
She lifted a cookie from the plate Mrs. Winston held out to her and smiled her thanks. “I am younger than the other teachers and speakers I’ve met at Chautauqua. But there are times when experience supersedes age.” She winced at the bitterness in her voice. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Winston. I didn’t mean to sound terse or—”
“You are going through a difficult time, Miss Bradley.” Mrs. Winston’s hand covered hers. “I admire your loyalty to your brother.”
So Grant had told her the circumstance of Lincoln’s death. She swallowed hard, fighting the tears stinging the backs of her eyes at Mrs. Winston’s comforting touch. It was what she had needed so desperately and never received from her own mother. But she couldn’t accept what she didn’t deserve. “Even though that loyalty brought me here to try and stop the harvest of your grapes?”
“Even though.” Mrs. Winston squeezed her hand, then released it and sat back in her chair. “But, in the interest of truth, I must admit I’m thankful your effort failed. I don’t know how we would manage without the profit from the grapes. Especially...now.”
She nodded, broke off a bite-size piece of cookie. “I didn’t know this was Grant’s—your family’s—vineyard when we came. I—I hoped it wasn’t.” The admission brought warmth flowing into her cheeks again. She hastened on. “But I couldn’t let it make any difference.” Oh, no! Lord, please don’t let her ask what I meant by “it.” She put the bite of cookie in her mouth to quell her nervous urge to explain and glanced up at the dusky sky. Where was Grant? She would have to leave for the dock soon and she wanted to say goodbye. Goodbye. The thought wrenched at her heart.
“You care for my son. I can see it in your eyes.”
She stiffened, drew her gaze back to Mrs. Winston and looked into her calm, steady gaze. There was no censure, only acknowledgment. Her nerves steadied.
“Grant cares for you also. But, of course, you’re aware of that.”
There was no sense in trying to deny it. The woman had seen her in Grant’s arms. She inhaled, blew out the breath and nodded. “Yes. But...it’s...difficult.”
Mrs. Winston’s lips twitched. “A temperance advocate and a vineyard owner attracted to one another? I should think so.”
A vineyard owner? She looked out at the lush vines and her stomach churned. Did Grant now own the vineyard? Would that make things easier or harder? Or did it remove all chance—all hope of their budding relationship growing into something more?
“Fortunately, there is nothing too difficult for the Lord.”
It was a firm statement, not merely a cliché spoken to glide over an uncomfortable moment. How wonderful it would be if it were true. The plod of hoofs and the creak of wheels stopped the wish. She rose and went to the railing, looked toward the vineyard access road and watched the horses appear pulling wagons loaded with overflowing baskets of grapes. Her stomach knotted. How much wine would all of those grapes make? How much misery would they cause? She turned her back and resumed her seat, took a swallow of lemonade to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth.
“You will see, Miss Bradley.”
The woman sounded so certain. But the doubt in her heart and the knots in her stomach told her otherwise. “Please, call me Marissa.” Mrs. Winston’s answering smile was so lovely it added to the sadness in her heart. How wonderful it would be to have this woman in her life if only—
“Grant told me how the two of you met aboard t
he Colonel Phillips while you were on your way to the Chautauqua Assembly, Marissa. And I believe God’s blessing was on that meeting. And on those that have followed.” A small smile touched Mrs. Winston’s mouth. “It will be interesting to see how the Lord works things out.”
If only He could. She reached for her glass and swallowed the unspoken doubt along with the lemonade.
* * *
The sinking sun’s last rays shimmered on the water, cast their golden hue over the Colonel Phillips floating at the end of the long dock. Grant skimmed his gaze over the people waiting to board and placed his hand over Marissa’s holding to his arm. “Let’s stop here a moment.” He led her away from the light cast by the lanterns under the wide overhang of the railroad station roof to a darker area beneath a tree. “I wish I could escort you all the way back to Fair Point, Marissa. But—”
“Please, don’t feel you have to explain, Grant. Your place is with your mother.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “She is a strong woman, but she still needs the comfort of her son. And I would expect no less of you.”
The kindness and understanding in her eyes soothed his concern. He nodded, took hold of her hands and pulled her around to face him. “Thank you for understanding about Mother, Marissa, but there’s more.” He heard her quick intake of breath, hated what he had to tell her. “The pickers are coming daily, and I have to manage the harvest. And now, since I’ve inherited Father’s estate, handling the business and the finances for the vineyard and for the house and Mother has also fallen to me.”
Her gaze slid away from his. “So much responsibility will take a good deal of your time.”
She understood! “Yes. My days are taken up with the vineyard and my evenings with going over my father’s records to familiarize myself with the finances. And that means I have no time to try and find a man qualified to take my place managing the vineyard—or to inquire about buying the Jamestown. That’s the steamer I told you was for sale.” He took a breath, laid it out clear. “My plans for the future have to be delayed. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to come to Chautauqua to see you any longer.”
“I see. Well, then—”
The Colonel Phillips’s whistle blew.
She pulled her hands from his grasp and stepped back, lifted her chin. The sunset glow piercing through the leafy canopy overhead fell on her taut features. His heart lurched. “Marissa, what—”
“Please don’t say anything more, Grant. I understand that your situation has changed and—and I wish you well.” Her smile looked forced. She glanced at the water, squared her shoulders and looked back at him. “Please tell your mother goodbye for me.”
“Goodbye?” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “What are you saying? That you’re unwilling to give me more time? That you’re through with me?”
Her eyes widened. “I thought you were saying you no longer had time for me.”
“What? No.” He stepped forward and drew her into his arms. “I was going to ask if you would give me until the harvest is over and I’ve had time to straighten out the finances to start working on my plan for the future. And if, in the meantime, you would mind making the trip here to Mayville to see me. I know you don’t like to ride the steamer.”
“You’re not saying goodbye?”
“I’d sooner cut off my arm. Well...maybe not my arm...” He smiled and tightened his embrace.
She stared up at him, blinked, then fastened her gaze on his and nodded. “I could get used to riding the steamer.”
* * *
Marissa shunned the cabin and stood by the railing to watch the lights of the railroad station fade into the distance. The flesh over her ribs was still warm from Grant’s arms holding her close.
She sighed and drew her gaze toward the dock, now merely a dark smudge on the water at the edge of the lake. Was Grant still standing there watching the Colonel Phillips growing smaller as it steamed away? Did men even do that sort of thing? And what did it matter? Grant had too great a demand on his time to stand idle and watch a steamer disappear.
The thought sobered her. Grant now owned the vineyard and the house. They went together. Her stomach curled. He had said his plans for the future were delayed—and she didn’t doubt that he meant it...now. But what about after the shock of his father’s death had passed, and he’d had time to think about everything? The Winston house was beautiful and comfortable and his mother’s home. How could he move away and leave his mother in that large house alone? That would be cruel. And it would be foolish and wasteful and...and selfish of him to sell it and buy another, even if he moved his mother in with him. And Grant was not a selfish man. She wouldn’t admire and respect him if he were.
It will be interesting to see how the Lord works things out.
If only God could. She had never cared for a man the way she cared for Grant. And when he took her into his arms... The memory brought forth a sigh. Grant Winston made her forget her determination to never fall in love or marry.
The steamer headed around the outcropping and the lights of Mayville disappeared. So did her romantic dreams. It would be lovely if she could believe there might be a future to the relationship, the...attraction she shared with Grant, but it was impossible. She admired Mrs. Winston’s faith and Grant’s determination but, try as she might, she couldn’t rid herself of her doubts. Almighty God, forgive me my unbelief, I pray. And let me be wrong, O Lord. Please let me be wrong.
Her face tightened. It was foolishness to pray such a thing. There was no possible way of overcoming all of the obstacles that stood in the way of her having a serious relationship with Grant no matter how she might want that to happen. Those lush vines would soon wrap around her heart and choke off any love that might grow there. And there was no way to stop that from happening. No possible way.
Chapter Nine
A bright yellow leaf drifted down and landed on her open Bible. Marissa admired its color, brilliant in the sunshine, then lifted her head and looked up at the branches overhanging the bench where she sat. The leaves were all green except one small cluster of bright yellow reminders that summer was passing.
The doubts she’d been trying to quench with her Bible reading surfaced again. The assembly would soon be over. Would Grant’s grape harvest be finished before it was time for her to go home? Did that even matter now? Everything had become more complicated by his father’s death. How could Grant manage all of his new responsibilities and find a way to pursue their complex relationship on top of his grief? It was better, less hurtful, to simply let it go. Why couldn’t she do that? Why couldn’t she stop thinking of Grant and longing to see him?
She picked the leaf up by its stem and twisted it back and forth between her thumb and finger wishing she could know the serenity she’d observed in Grant’s mother instead of the constant sense of unease she’d lived with for the five years since her father had begun drinking wine. He’d turned from her protector to the one she most feared and made their home a place of tension and apprehension instead of a sanctuary of love and safety. And Lincoln had died. How could she hope to find serenity? It all made her furious!
She threw the leaf to the ground and reached to close the Bible, pausing when a verse caught her eye. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust...
Trust? How could she trust? Everyone had betrayed her. Her father struck her. Her mother stood by and did nothing but cry and plead with him to stop. And Lincoln, whom she’d thought she knew so well, had secretly taken to strong drink. How could she trust anyone?
Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them away and stared down at the verse. She wanted to trust God. She wanted to trust Grant. And she was trying. She was truly trying, but deep in her heart—
“It’s impossible! Do you hear me, God?” She looked up at the sky, battling the tears that were pushing into her
eyes. “It’s like the situation at home—instead of getting better, things have gotten worse. Grant owns that vineyard now. And he has to take care of his mother and that’s her home and I want him to care for her, and I don’t want her to have to leave but—” she clenched her hands into fists “—but every time I see those vines it makes me ill. And angry. I—I care about Grant, I truly do. But I can’t go against my convictions!” She swiped the tears from her eyes, flipped the Bible closed and surged to her feet. “Our...relationship...cannot grow into something more. It’s impossible!”
It will be interesting to see how the Lord works things out.
She caught her breath, hugged the Bible to her chest and closed her eyes, wished Mrs. Winston had never said that to her. She liked Grant’s mother so much. She didn’t want to disappoint her, to be the cause of her losing faith when things didn’t work out with Grant. “Mrs. Winston trusts You, Lord. She is serenely confident that You can do the impossible, that You can make a way where there is no way and bring a blessing where there is no blessing. I pray she is right.”
The plan Grant had offered as their solution flooded into her head along with a dozen others she’d thought of, all flawed. She pressed her lips together and headed for the tent to put away her Bible and prepare for her afternoon lecture. She had a few more days. It would be better...easier...if she told Grant goodbye now, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t. There was a stubborn, foolish part of her heart that clung to the hope that Mrs. Winston was right—even if she couldn’t believe it.
* * *
“Would you like more meat and gravy, Grant? Or potatoes?”
Grant looked across the table and shook his head. “I’m sorry to have to leave you alone, Mother. But I’ve got to get back to the vineyard.” He frowned and laid his fork on his plate. “The catawbas are somewhat sparse on the frost-damaged vines, and the pickers tend to slow down. I want to keep them working at their best speed.”
“You don’t have to apologize or explain, Grant. This isn’t the first harvest I’ve been through.” She smiled and rose, gathered their dirty plates and flatware. “I’ll get your cake.”
An Unlikely Love Page 11
