by DiAnn Mills
“I had lunch with your father at the club last week. I understand we’re all getting together for dinner.”
“Yes, Ryan suggested it,” she said, giving Ryan a radiant smile before her eyes slipped to Caroline.
Caroline realized the trembling had moved up her fingers to her palms. Desperately, her eyes flew to the table, and she quickly set down the plate and cup in an empty space—before she could drop or spill anything.
Ryan was turning toward her. “Father, I’d like you to meet a friend.”
Caroline turned to face a tall, gray-haired man.
“This is Caroline Cushman,” he said.
“How do you do?” Cool blue eyes swept her. “You’re the young lady from Pine Ridge?”
Caroline felt her stomach tighten even more. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m sure your community is proud of you.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, excuse me, please. I see someone I must speak with. Nice meeting you.” He smiled briefly, then rushed off.
Caroline couldn’t decide if he was reserved or if he disliked her. She tried to keep her smile in place as Ryan took her elbow and escorted her into the living room.
Her stomach was now balled as tight as a fist as Amelia’s words echoed in her mind. Ryan had suggested their families get together. He did like Amelia. Why else would he suggest that? She glanced over the strangers. She had never seen so much jewelry, smelled so much perfume, or felt so drastically out of place.
Ryan introduced her to a gracious older couple who peppered Ryan with questions about school. Half listening, she let her eyes sweep the room. She spotted Amelia chatting with Ryan’s mother and a young girl who was dressed in a beautiful blue dress. Suddenly, the girl turned and looked directly at Caroline. What were they saying?
Caroline’s stomach lurched. She had to find a lavatory. She was going to be sick. The nervous stomachache that had been troubling her for months increased to severe stomach cramps when she got nervous. She knew, in just a matter of minutes, she would be throwing up.
Before Ryan finished his conversation, she tapped his arm. “Excuse me,” she said, lowering her voice. “Could you point me to the lavatory, please?”
“Oh of course.” He detached himself from the older couple and directed her down the hall to the first door on the right.
She rushed in that direction, relieved to see it was a large room and that the two ladies present were primping before a gold-framed mirror. She smiled briefly and rushed into the toilet, which, to her enormous relief, had a door to close. The women’s voices floated away as the outer door opened and closed.
Enormously relieved to be alone, she gripped the wall and gave way to the heaving nausea. In the midst of her spasms, she heard the door open again. She tried to muffle the sound, but how could you be quietly sick?
“What is that?” a younger voice asked.
“Sounds as though someone drank too much of that special punch your father stashed in the kitchen.”
If she felt sick before, it was even worse now. For the voice was Amelia’s and Caroline knew she would rather die than go out and face her.
Fear had ended her spasms, and at least she was no longer heaving, but now she felt cold to the bone and dizzy with apprehension.
“Could you please hurry up in there?” a younger voice pleaded.
Taking a deep breath, running a hand over her face, and checking her dress, Caroline opened the door and stepped out.
Amelia stood beside the young girl studying Caroline curiously.
“Oh Caroline,” Amelia said patronizingly, “you know you shouldn’t start drinking this early in the day.”
Caroline’s mouth fell open, and for a moment she was too startled to reply.
“Eugenia, this is Caroline Cushman. Caroline, this is Eugenia, Ryan’s sister.”
The girl’s pale blue eyes were filled with scorn as she looked Caroline up and down.
Then she struck the worst blow of all. “How dare you get drunk at my parents’ party. I think you’re disgusting.” She turned and entered the toilet.
Amelia was eyeing herself in the mirror, adjusting a curl. Caroline walked over to the faucet to rinse her hands. She dried them carefully, then turned to Amelia.
“I do not drink, and you have no reason to slander me,” she said to Amelia, who was trying to ignore her.
Amelia had turned to face her, her chin lifted, her blue eyes cold. She said nothing.
“You’ve done your best to make me feel inferior since that day at the dorm when you deliberately bumped me so I would spill my punch,” Caroline continued, “but you’ve only made me more determined to succeed. And I’m proud of where I come from and the people there; we are good, hard-working people who try never to hurt another human being.”
She heard the door open behind her and realized that Eugenia was walking around to face her.
“You’re mistaken, Caroline.” Amelia pushed a little smile onto her lips while Eugenia stared. “It wasn’t my fault you spilled the punch. I think you’re just upset because Ryan is seeing me again. In fact, I would have been his date today if he hadn’t invited you. He gave me a special invitation to come anyway, didn’t he, Eugenia?”
The girl nodded, looking from Amelia to Caroline.
“And for your information, we’re having dinner together tomorrow night. He told me he felt sorry for you, knowing you had nothing to do.”
“I do have something to do,” she said calmly, looking back at Eugenia. “I am glad to have met you,” she said. Then she lifted her chin and left the room.
Yes, she had something to do. She had a train to catch and she wanted no part of this social world ever again. She practically bumped into Ryan’s mother as she turned a corner, looking for the coat closet.
“I hope you are having a good time,” the woman smiled.
Caroline nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’ve enjoyed your party, Mrs. Blankenship, but I have a train to catch. Could you please tell Ryan I had to leave?”
She hurried past her to the next room. She had no trouble locating her simple cape among the others as the grandfather clock in the hall struck four. She remembered Ryan had said they could get to the train station in fifteen minutes from his house. With an hour, she would have no trouble getting there on her own. She cast one last glance across the room, seeing Ryan with his father and an older man. He wasn’t even looking her way; he seemed to have forgotten her completely. She turned and opened the door, stepping out into the cold gray day.
Carriages filled the drive, but she knew she could easily locate the Blankenship carriage; it would be the only one with a battered cardboard suitcase on the seat. Soon she had her suitcase and was hurrying down the driveway. Fueled by anger, she walked fast and hard. She glanced around her, trying to forget what had happened. On the contrary, the opulent estates merely reminded her of the Blankenships. And Amelia. The pain of Amelia’s insults, Eugenia’s scorn, and Mr. Blankenship’s subtle indifference was mild compared to the raw ache of Ryan’s deception. Or was it deception? He had never said he liked her, but she had assumed…
Was it true he felt sorry for her, thought she needed a friend? He was kind to everyone, and he had been fascinated by Pine Ridge. Maybe that was why he had been nice. Emily thought he was crazy about her and Caroline had wanted to believe that; but now she knew they were both wrong. She had seen for herself that Amelia was really his girl. She fit perfectly into his world. And now she had no one but herself to blame for her broken heart.
The wind picked up, making the day feel even colder. On the street corner, carolers huddled together, their breath making tiny circles of fog as they sang.
Her eyes watered and tears trickled down her cold cheeks. Lowering her head, she hurried on, forcing her thoughts toward home. It was the only way she could survive the terrible hurt inside. She thought of the community church on Christmas Eve, with homemade candles in every window, the handmade gifts folks passed out, more precious than those fancy ones und
er the Blankenship tree.
Deep in thought, she had walked for blocks and blocks until she suddenly stopped and looked around. Nothing was familiar. She thought if she merely headed straight back, she would pass the train station. With a sinking heart, she realized there must have been another street that led to the station, and somehow she had missed it.
With lips trembling from the cold, she stopped a passerby.
“Could you please tell me how to get to the train station?” she asked.
“Miss, you’re ten blocks too far north.”
She gasped. Ten blocks! Had she walked ten blocks out of the way?
“Thank you,” she said, whirling around.
“When you get to Fifth, you have to take a right and go straight west four blocks.”
She nodded, wondering about the time. She regretted not taking her father’s watch out of its safe place in the bureau as Granny suggested. Walking faster now, reading the street signs, she regretted her impulsiveness. Why hadn’t she asked directions before rushing off? I will find it on my own, she told herself. She didn’t need anyone’s help.
Gripping her suitcase tighter, she was practically running by the time she reached Fifth. She made the turn, stopping beside an old man selling newspapers. “What time is it, please?”
Stiff fingered, he fumbled in his pocket for his watch. “Twenty till five.”
I can make it, she told herself. With one hand, she lifted her skirt and began to run the four blocks. The frigid air poured through her open mouth as she panted for breath. She could feel her hair slipping out of the chignon, tumbling about her face. How could four blocks take so long? she wondered, gasping for breath. Just when she thought she would pass out, she saw the outline of the train station and she tried to calm herself. The dull pain in her side had become a searing ache that warned her to slow down or fall flat; still, the whistle of a departing train quickened her steps again. More than one train left the station, she reminded herself as she entered the station.
She could hardly bend her cold fingers, but she managed to open her purse and find her ticket. “Pine Ridge,” she gasped to the little man taking up tickets.
He looked up in surprise. “Just left. Sorry.”
She stared at him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes’m, I’m sure.”
“Then can I trade my ticket for a later—”
“Every train seat is booked for the rest of the holidays.”
His words were blows to her frozen ears.
“Hurry up, miss,” someone nudged her.
Dazed, she stepped out of line and collapsed on the nearest bench. Her bottom lip began to tremble. She wouldn’t be going home for Christmas! She sat there, hugging her useless ticket, as voices rose and fell in harsh cadence. She looked bleakly at the crowd and shivered into her cape.
There had been times when she had thought she was lonely, sitting alone on a creek bank, tossing pebbles in the pond. But this was loneliness—surrounded by strangers at Christmas, with nowhere to go and no one who cared.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, suddenly aware that someone stood behind her.
“Tell me what happened.” She lifted her tear-stained face and looked into Ryan’s troubled eyes.
Chapter 7
I missed the train,” she said.
He glanced quickly toward the ticket counter, then sank into the seat beside her.
“That’s not a problem. What caused you to leave my house?” He pushed a trailing strand of hair back from her face. “Your face is frozen. Surely you didn’t—did you walk?” he asked, looking horrified.
“What difference does it make? You had more important guests.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, reaching for her hand.
She tried to hold back, but his touch was gentle, yet insistent.
“When Mother told me you had left, I was puzzled, but I thought you must have left with friends from school. Father saw you leaving and found me; I couldn’t believe you would leave like that. I knew something had gone wrong. As I was getting my coat, Eugenia rushed up and told me about Amelia. That explained everything,” he said, his voice edged with anger.
He paused, shaking his head. “Amelia has misled you and everyone else into thinking I care for her. We have been friends since childhood because our parents are close friends. Naturally, I asked her if she was coming to their annual dinner party of close friends. As for today’s gathering, Mother insisted I invite her to the party, but my friendship with Amelia has ended. She lied to you.”
Caroline stared at him, not wanting to hope, and yet she could feel something deep inside warming, just as he was warming her hand with his own.
She stared at him, considering his words. If his family didn’t like her, why would they help clear up the misunderstanding? And if Ryan didn’t care, why didn’t he stay with Amelia? Why had he come here for her?
“Look, there’s plenty of time to explain. The carriage and Felix are waiting outside. I was going to insist on taking you home; now you have no choice.”
His warm smile reached out to her, and she felt her reserve topple. “Guess I can’t say no,” she replied.
Later, after they were settled in the carriage with a blanket wrapped around her, Caroline thought she must be dreaming. Was Ryan really saying these things to her?
“I have liked you since the first day I saw you. And now I think I’ve gone beyond the liking stage and—”
“Ryan,” she sighed, “I don’t fit into your world.”
“Who said so? My mother adored you, my father liked you—if you understand that he’s always a bit preoccupied, even with me. And once Eugenia’s eyes were opened to the truth, she liked you, too. My parents and sister are good Christian people; they are not snobs.”
“No, they were very nice to me,” she said, regretting her rude departure.
He reached across and pressed her head against his shoulder. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you rest until we get there?”
“I am tired,” she admitted. The warmth and the gentle rocking of the carriage had worked its magic as she nestled against Ryan and felt the sweetest peace she had ever known.
A gentle hand on her shoulder brought Caroline out of an exhausted sleep. She opened her eyes and looked around. The curtain was drawn back on the carriage window, admitting a soft, yellow light from the candlelit shops in Pine Ridge. Ryan’s face was profiled against the light, and he was smiling down at her.
“We’re here,” he said, turning toward the window.
Caroline looked out at the place she loved and had dreamed of for months.
A full moon streamed pure silver over the small shops and log cabins where homemade candles twinkled in the windows. Wreaths made from pine cones adorned the doors, and in the soft night she could hear the peal of the church bell.
“They’re having a service tonight, Ryan. Could we stop?” she asked eagerly.
“Of course.” He looked out at the sleepy little community and sighed. “Caroline, I feel like I’ve landed in a Dickens novel. This is the most beautiful little place I’ve ever seen.”
The carriage slowed to a stop. Felix got down and came to open the door. “Where are we going, Mr. Blankenship?”
He looked at Caroline. “Which church?”
She smiled. “There’s only one. The little church straight ahead.”
Felix nodded. “Thank you.” He closed the door, and Caroline looked back at Ryan.
“Ryan, I can’t thank you enough.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“The opportunity to come here is my thanks. Where is the doctor’s clinic?”
She frowned. “Dr. Felts? Why, he has a clinic in his home. In fact, we’ll be passing his house in just a minute. He lives across from the church.”
Her heart jumped at the question. Why had Ryan asked? Was it possible—?
“There. That’s his house,” she pointed. “Dr. Felts wanted to blend into Pine Ridge, and so he built a log cabin as wel
l. His, of course, is larger and nicer.”
Tonight, dozens of candles twinkled in the windows, giving Pine Ridge the kind of storybook beauty Ryan had mentioned earlier.
“I can’t believe anyone can live like this,” he said, staring at the house.
Caroline’s heart sank. “I guess it does seem remote and—”
“Stop it.” His hand squeezed hers. “I can’t believe anyone could have such a peaceful, beautiful life.”
Caroline stared at him for a moment, seeing the fascination in his face. He meant what he was saying, but why had she ever doubted him?
The pealing of the church bell was closer now, and she looked out on the cemetery across from the church as the carriage rolled to a halt.
Eyes of the Heart
Rosey Dow
Dedication
In memory of Miriam Dow,
my mother-in-law, mentor,
confidante, and friend.
I still miss you, Mom.
Chapter 1
I was sitting in the library in my favorite oversized chair when I felt a blast of cold wind. Someone had thrown open the front door. My heart lurched. I was afraid that this Christmas of 1925 would be one I’d never forget.
Eighteen-year-old Millie Box squeezed into the chair with me so she could peek around its high back and spy into the foyer.
“Is it them?” I asked.
One glance and she whispered, “It’s them all right, Julie. All of ’em red and chapped with cold.” She giggled. “I wonder which one is Honey’s beau.”
“Sh-h-h! They’ll hear you.”
“Help me off with this coat, Bob,” a shrill voice whined, “so’s I can go in by the fireplace. My toes are icicles.”
I stiffened. Would they choose the library or the parlor across the hall? Both had blazing fires.
“I’ll help you, Lucy,” boomed a mellow male voice. “Bob’s busy with his own coat.” He sang off-key, “Oh, you beautiful doll…”
“Cut it out, Tubby,” the girl said, exasperated. “We’ve listened to you for three hours straight. You should be on the radio….”
