No, there had to be that unexplainable factor.
Love.
And what man would want a woman whose main concern was...things?
At the same time, Megan didn’t need the things any man had. She had her own. Her relationship with Michael was apparently based on love.
His attention was drawn back to her when she said, “Thank you.” He felt this was dismissal time. He became aware of the fragrant magnolia, which was not nearly as tantalizing as the light scent he’d detected about her. It had been most tantalizing when he’d been close to her when telling about his ancestry. Something about it made him want to experience more.
She walked closer to him. “I enjoyed the carriage ride and lunch.” She waved her hand at the house and yard. “And your letting me talk about changes in the house seems to establish that more firmly in my mind. I’m even more inclined to have the changes made. It’s a big house and should be shared.”
He nodded. “I’ll put together plans and costs. I understand you might want another company’s opinion. That’s how business is done.” He wasn’t sure he should speak the thought that occurred. But it came out anyway. “Business has its place. Friendship is separate.”
Her gaze shifted away from him and he thought he might be assuming too much. He dared venture further. “I thought you saw me today instead of Michael.”
Her face clouded. “I know you’re different. But still, you’re such a reminder of him.” She reached up, and he thought she was about to touch his hair, maybe brush it off the side of his forehead. He felt it there, felt the light breeze teasing his forehead. Like her fingertips might feel if she did that. And what would he do? He’d try to laugh, or joke, anything but...
She shook her head as if to discount whatever she’d intended. Her hand fell and found a place in the pocket of her shorts.
He decided to try and joke around. “I’ll dye my hair if that helps.”
At her small laugh he had to smile. “Shave my head?”
“Would you really go that far?”
“No.” All teasing aside he said, “If you can’t see me as anyone other than a reminder of Michael, a change of my hair wouldn’t do it.” He paused. “Would it?”
“No.” She looked serious, too. “I see a family resemblance with Lizzie and Paul. Mainly their red hair, although Paul’s is darker. I also see them as entirely different persons.”
But, he wondered, does she like what she sees?
She admitted, “You do remind me of him. I mean, there’s a connection.” He waited to see what her thoughtful expression was about. Then she said, “What makes you think I saw you differently today?”
He smiled. “Because you asked me to pray before lunch. I felt that meant you might have forgiven me for having invaded your privacy. That you might consider trusting me, accepting me as a friend, like your friends have.” He paused. “Someone like you doesn’t ask a person to pray unless you feel they have a close relationship with God.”
Seeing her surprised look he added, “Even if it’s about fried chicken.”
Ah, she had a lovely smile. It transformed her already beautiful face. “I didn’t analyze it,” she said. “It just seemed like that’s such a part of you. I think that openness about praying distinguishes you from Michael more than anything else.”
“Maybe,” he said and felt the words. “Maybe I pray a lot because I need it so much.”
Like right now, standing in front of a woman any man would be proud to call his own. Any man...except Michael? Maybe her wanting Michael had something to do with wanting what you couldn’t have. The forbidden fruit.
Is that what he was feeling? A longing for something, someone he couldn’t have?
Megan said, “It’s not just you. Right now I’m confused about Michael. About relationships. About what was real and what was imagined. I wouldn’t be receptive to...any man.”
“I understand. I wanted to escape situations and landed in the midst of a war.” He tried to smile. “But in that war, I found what is most important. It’s not just staying alive, but it’s having the Lord in one’s life, whether in good times or bad.” How to keep one’s distance and at the same time offer openness, he wasn’t sure. However, he ventured to say, “If you want to know me, just ask.”
She nodded. Then she gazed into his eyes, and he thought he’d better start praying before his hands or his feet moved toward her. And they were about to until she looked up at him and asked, “Were you in love with Loretta?”
He felt his chest rise. He glanced away from her, remembering the words of Miss B, who said you don’t have to tell everything. And this was too serious, too personal, unless...
He brought his gaze back to her and asked, “Are you in love with Michael?”
As soon as he asked he felt he’d been too bold. But she looked thoughtful, not offended. She obviously knew what their questions meant.
They were really asking if they had any purpose in disclosing their own heartfelt secrets.
No need to answer.
They were bonded by their individual relationship with Michael.
And yet, what bonded him and Megan also separated them.
She gave a small laugh, as if reading his mind. But it wasn’t his mind, really—it was the facts of life.
“I should go,” he said.
“I’ll walk around to the front with you. I think an outside entrance would be best at the back or other side of the house, but see what you think.”
They walked along the driveway, which was bordered by lush green shrubs. When they came to the front steps the builder in him surfaced. “No, that side of the house shouldn’t be changed.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You were testing me.”
She didn’t deny it. She lifted her hand and twirled her long ponytail. “My turn. Isn’t that what you were doing with the carriage ride?”
“Exactly.” And he didn’t want to add the obvious. That he wanted her to see him as himself and not an unpleasant extension of the person he was tired of thinking about.
And she hadn’t cried. In fact, her beautiful face was aglow with the sun on it and her smile. He reached for her hand, which he’d already noticed had slender fingers and curved nails. An artist’s hands, he supposed. What was he going to do with it? She didn’t pull away, and she wasn’t smiling, just looking beautiful.
So he lifted her hand and bent his head to touch it with his lips. “That’s the way a carriage ride should end,” he said, as if he had to explain it. Then he added what Carl had said: “My lady.”
With a lifted hand, he turned to go.
“Thank you,” he heard as he walked briskly away. He felt good about today. She hadn’t cried. In fact, they’d laughed together. She’d been accepting. He thought of SweetiePie and Mudd being supposedly natural enemies. But they had become friends.
Maybe he and Megan could be like that. They couldn’t chase each other, but maybe they could manage to sit side by side and watch what was going on with their friends.
This was a beautiful, clear sunny day in Savannah and he felt sunshine in his soul.
Chapter 19
Megan stood for a moment, watching Noah stroll along the redbrick sidewalk. She thought he was singing. She’d heard him do that before.
His silvery hair reminded her of SweetiePie and how she loved to caress the feline’s soft white fur.
That surprised her. Until now, she’d thought of his hair only in relation to Michael. Could she really accept him as Noah, separate from the past and her history with Michael?
He’d planted a feathery touch of his lips on the back of her hand. She could still feel it. But that was fantasy. They’d played a historical game.
Michael and Noah had played games.
They’d competed. Michael had won Loretta.
And Loretta was in the graveyard.
Had Michael been playing some kind of game with her? She almost laughed at the irony of that. Whether or not it was intentional, he was playing a game with her.
The guessing game.
But for a while today she saw Noah, separate from Michael.
As she watched him disappear around the corner she realized she’d lifted her hand to her lips. The hand that his lips had touched.
See Noah as a person in his own right?
Yes, that was good and right.
But see him as anything more than a friend?
No. She’d better not. She must remember the hurt of the past, and learn from her heart and ego having been trampled, lest history be repeated. It would be a long, long time, if ever, before she was ready to consider having any man in her life.
Of course, Lizzie was waiting in the living room when Megan walked in. “Well, that was unexpected, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and get that look off your face. It was business.”
“Business?” she squeaked.
“Yep. Like Symon’s editor, who takes him to lunch because he wants his books. Noah treated me to lunch because he wants my business.”
In a singsong tone Lizzie said, “He added a carriage ride.”
Megan spoke defensively. “If you noticed, he didn’t ask—he sprang it on me. He knew I’d say no. He’s trying to reel me in.”
At Lizzie’s lifted eyebrows, Megan added, “I mean, for business purposes. My renovation will be an expensive project.”
You’d think Lizzie had become Willamina, hands on hips and talking sassy. “And the hand-kissing?”
Megan gasped. “You spied on us?”
“Well, of course.” She lowered her hands. “Isn’t that what accountability partners are for?”
Megan rolled her eyes. “In broad daylight?”
“That’s when they catch you off guard.”
“You’re an expert?”
“Well, I should be. I’ve dated two-thousand five-hundred eighty-seven guys and have another lined up for Friday night.”
“It was nothing. The end of a historic tour. It’s not like...it’s not like...”
Lizzie was grinning. “Falling in the creek?”
“Hardly.”
Lizzie laughed. “I’ll bet if it had been your lips instead of your hand, he would have melted you like butter on a hot biscuit.”
Megan shook her head to try to rid herself of not only Lizzie’s quip but also the idea of Noah’s lips, which were really quite appealing. Such an idea was out of the question. “You’re impossible.” She marched out of the room, still hearing Lizzie’s soft laughter as if she’d read her mind.
It was Lizzie who had unfulfilled romantic ideas. Not her.
And she proved it by getting on with more than thinking about a man. All the thinking in the world didn’t change the fact that Michael was history.
* * *
Each morning for the next week, whenever Megan and her friends had time, they went to Noah’s. Megan directed the arranging of furniture, and everyone helped move it into place after Doris and her crew had done a thorough cleaning.
“Land’s sake,” Willamina screeched. “You call this empty room a pantry?” She huffed. “Looks more like Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard to me.”
She slammed the door and placed her hands on her hips. “Nobody can cook with nothing to cook with, sonny.”
“Get what you need. Change the kitchen. I’m inept in a kitchen,” Noah admitted.
“That you are.” Shaking her head, she marched to the cabinets and began to take out the dishes, separating good china from everyday. She looked over her shoulder at them all and shooed them away. “Go take care of your business. Kitchen’s mine.”
Megan took hold of Noah’s sleeve and jerked her head toward the hallway. Laughing, they left.
By Friday afternoon Noah’s kitchen was stocked, the house was clean, furniture was in place and the bedrooms were arranged in a way that would entice any guest. The living room was a showplace of period furniture of historic significance, a room where one might sit and discuss the conversation pieces yet feel welcomed into another era.
Megan was pleased that the room Noah liked best was the bedroom they’d turned into a comfortable cozy den. “It’s my day off,” she said. “Let’s shop for a couple lamps. And you need pictures.”
“I brought some paintings from my parents’ house that belonged to my grandparents. We’ll look those over and see what you think. Some are originals.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, smiling. “I’m not an art expert.”
A silver glint touched his eyes. “You’re on your way.”
She started to negate that, then realized how many times she refuted compliments. So she nodded instead. “I do think my sketches of SweetiePie’s bad hair days are unique and original.”
Her eyes went immediately to his hair that was not like Michael’s, not like SweetiePie’s, but like Noah’s. Thankful for his soft laugh, she focused again on the paintings.
They shopped for just the right lamp that would be ideal for reading while relaxing in the big overstuffed chair with feet propped on the ottoman. After they returned, that’s what Noah did.
Megan was delighted that he loved the room, as she did. She sat on a couch near his chair. “This is perfect for someone just to relax and think or whatever.”
“I like it,” she said.
“Let’s break it in.”
“Break—?” her eyes questioned.
He nodded. “I can whip up a mean tomato sandwich, or banana if you prefer, complete with mayonnaise.” He lifted his eyebrows hopefully.
She laughed. “Tomato. You make the sandwiches and I’ll handle the coffee.”
He led the way into the kitchen and stopped just inside. “If we can find anything after Willamina’s organizing.”
“Soon you’ll find everything is convenient.”
She’d bought a one-cup coffee maker and a K-cup carousel filled with mixed brands. “What kind?” She turned the holder. “Dark roast. Columbian. Decaf. Starbucks.”
“Kona?” he said teasingly.
She gave him a withering look. “I think you’ll need to get a package of that...or go to Hawaii.”
“I’ve never been,” he said, cutting a big tomato into slices. “Bread? Bread?”
Megan pointed. “Try the pantry.”
He did and returned with a loaf. “Whole wheat.”
“Willamina believes in healthy eating. Now, about Hawaii. I’ve always wanted to go. Annabelle, Lizzie and I talked about it, but life gets in the way.”
“Let’s just take off and go,” he said.
It did sound good. She liked this easy camaraderie and started to jest, “Sure. Call the airlines,” but instead she just watched as he applied the mayonnaise and slapped the bread on the sliced tomatoes.
They took the food into the den. She sat on the couch with the lap tray, and he sat in the easy chair. They put their cups on the coffee table.
He looked around. “This will be especially nice in winter with a fire going.”
Megan nodded and washed a bite down with coffee. “Right now, the fragrant evening breeze blowing through the window is good.”
He agreed. “I think I’m ready for Dr. Beauvais.”
“The house looks really great. He should be comfortable here. You can tell him about historic Savannah, and he can tell you about Paris.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Symon says he has a villa.”
“This isn’t exactly a dump.”
He cleared his throat. “Certainly not. My decorator has turned it into a historic y
et cozy showplace.”
“That’s better.” She set her empty tray on the coffee table.
“It may be a while before you and I have a chance to talk again,” he said. “I mean, Dr. Beauvais arrives tomorrow. The wedding’s next week. We’re finished here. You’ll move in with Miss B while work is being done on your house.”
She took a sip of coffee, thoughtful, then gazed at him. “We haven’t really talked.”
“That’s what I mean. Thank you for including me in your life like your friends have. Maybe it’s time I answered your question.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I’d like to. Now, if you care to listen...”
Did she? Accepting Noah as a friend didn’t mean they’d relate on a more personal level. Like with Symon. He could talk all day about his personal life, but that would never lead to more than friendship.
After that little lecture to herself, she nodded. From the serious look on his face she knew he would talk about Loretta.
His face turned toward her. “What I felt for Loretta was love as I understood it. But I wasn’t ready for a wife. We both had college to get through. We enjoyed the moment instead of thinking about a lifetime. Those were good days. But when I’m concerned about the mention of Loretta, it’s not what I lost, but what she lost. How her life turned out so different than she had envisioned and ended at such a young age.”
Megan nodded. Talking things over had a way of putting things in perspective, Aunt B said. Megan acknowledged his sharing with a nod and told him about the night Michael was at the dinner when it became known that Symon was not just the caretaker’s son but also a famous author.
“Michael had said he wanted us to leave early, to spend some time together other than while we led tours.” Remembering, she related the incident. “Michael went on about the caretaker’s son having become a famous writer. Then he asked what he had become, mocking his own job as a low-paid tour guide. He said he needed to think about the future.”
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