by Anita Higman
Just to make certain his prelude to a kiss had the desired effect, Charlie retrieved the truffle from her lap, slowly unwrapped it, and fed it to her in bites. “These truffles come from Belgium, by the way. They’re dark chocolate filled with rose cream. What do you think?”
Franny swallowed the last bite. “Aromatic. Luscious.” She licked her lips. “Extraordinary.”
“Hmm.” Charlie nodded. “Good evocative adjectives.” Then he tilted her head with his finger and brushed his lips over hers. “I wonder if that’s where the idea for a chocolate kiss came from.”
She laced her fingers around his neck and pulled him down for a serious kiss. When they later disengaged—impossible to tell how much later—from their mystical enchantment, Franny found her voice. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered back.
“I think I’ve waited my whole life for that kiss.”
“Me too.” Charlie eased away. “Your face has a rosy glow from being so close to the fire.”
“The glow isn’t from the fire. At least not that one.” She gestured to the fireplace in front of them.
Charlie chuckled. “You know, sometimes you see a thing far away. You don’t know what it is, but you feel drawn to it, because you know this thing will change your life. And the closer you get…”
“The closer you get?”
“I’m not saying this very well.” Charlie gently took her face into his hands. “All I know is, well, those three weeks on the farm with you were the best three weeks of my life. And the day you were gone, well, it was the worst day of my life. And that’s not even including the barn burning down.”
Franny laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“For somebody who doesn’t think he can say it right, you really said it right.”
“I did?”
“You did. You could be a poet.”
“A sad and sorry poet.”
Franny kissed his hand before he released her. “But what are we going to do when we go back to the farm tomorrow? Things have changed between us. If the boss is dating the hired help, it could get messy.”
Charlie kissed the tip of her nose. “I don’t think the cows will be filing a complaint against us.”
“No. They wouldn’t dare. They love me too much.”
“I guess we’ll have to take it one day at a time. But know this: you’re changing my life, Franny girl.”
“And you’ve changed mine.” She paused. “So tell me, is there any improvement in your leg?”
“Your kisses have cured me. Better than medicine. Look, no limp.”
“That’s because you’re sitting down.”
Charlie chuckled. “So I am.”
They sat there by the fire, drinking each other in for a moment, when Charlie felt a pang of guilt, knowing that if Franny were to someday become a member of the Landau family, then he could no longer hide certain secrets from her. “You know, you were so fortunate to have had parents who were loving and generous and full of virtue. The way you talk about them moves me. It makes me wish…”
“Yes?”
“Well, when a person is ill, sometimes that person just needs a little help to get back to the place where he or she started. But if he’s made to be confused, then it’s hard for him to find his way.”
“What do you mean?”
Charlie pointed to the picture of his brother, Willie, on the mantel. “It’s about my brother.”
“So that’s your brother? I can tell. He looks a lot like you.”
“Yes, people always say that about Willie.”
“It’s a shame your brother couldn’t be here tonight. I would have enjoyed meeting him.”
“I want you to meet him as well.” He lowered his gaze. An odd little bug made its way across the floor. It would surely make their maid, Matilda, scream if she saw it, but he decided to leave him be. He couldn’t stand to see another living thing hurt in this house.
“Is everything all right?”
Charlie thought of leaving the discussion for another evening. And yet he knew he couldn’t hide their secrets forever. “No, things haven’t been right in the Landau family for a long time. My brother, Willie, didn’t make it here this evening because he’s in a mental institution.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Franny paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. “Has your brother always had these issues, or is it recent?” She touched his hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Charlie rolled up his sleeves. “My father loaned you that dress this evening and everything to go with it. He just can’t…” His voice drifted off as if he were out of words.
“Yes. I thought it was kind of him to help me out, since I had nothing appropriate to wear.”
“You were fine the way you were. But my father had to make certain you were dressed the way he wanted you dressed for his evening.”
Perhaps Mr. Landau had indeed been the one to set out her clothes. What an eccentric quality. “I guess your father has a need to orchestrate things for people.”
“More than you can imagine. Only most people, like you, can handle his manipulations. They either follow through with his wishes or they ignore him. But what if there were someone who looked up to him, who wanted to please him more than anything in the world…but couldn’t? What kind of mental trap would that be like?” Charlie rested back against the front of a chair.
“So your father’s controlling nature has made your brother emotionally unsteady?”
“Exactly.”
“That is so tragic. Have you talked to your father about it?”
“Oh yes. But he sees this as my brother’s problem. Father has spent years trying to convince us that pursuing artistic endeavors will lead to poverty and mental instability. It’s a lie, of course, just to force us into running his enterprises. Willie did fulfill his dream of becoming an artist, but his freedom is slowly killing him.”
“I don’t understand.”
Charlie rose from the floor, leaned against the fireplace mantel, and watched the logs being consumed by the blaze. “From time to time Willie has suffered from bouts of depression, but nothing severe. Father tries to convince him that his depression is turning into madness. And the timing of our father’s speeches are particularly cruel. When Willie is preparing for a new art show, Father usually insists that Willie check himself into the institution.”
“Oh, Charlie. I had no idea.” Franny couldn’t imagine such a family nightmare. If only she could comfort Charlie or help Willie in some way. “Can’t your brother at least refuse to admit himself to the institution?”
Charlie turned and looked at her. “My father has such a power over him. He’s able to convince Willie to admit himself. Well, that is, when my father feels it’s necessary. He doesn’t stay any longer than a few days at a time, but it’s disruptive to his life. I hate to see him like this, but until I can break this merry-go-round my father has him on, I don’t see much hope. Unless, of course, God sees fit to do a miracle.”
Franny reached for the chair, trying to find a graceful way to rise off the floor in a dress, but before she could put in a struggle, Charlie lifted her up into his arms.
“I never would have guessed there was such turmoil in your family, Charlie. It’s good you’re going back to the farm. It’s a place to be yourself.”
“Especially with you by my side. Well, I’ll be in the apartment, but you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Franny found herself caring more for Charlie and his family by the hour. She eased away to look at him. “Would it help your brother to come for a visit? To stay with us for a while? He might enjoy the peace of the farm…the fresh air and all the animals. It might do him a lot of good.”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
Franny rested against his shoulder, and the spot felt just right.
Charlie kissed the top of her head. “But let’s give it a co
uple of days before we invite Willie out to the farm. I’m still not quite in the rhythm of things yet.”
“You will be. It just takes time.”
“It’s not coming naturally to me, Franny. Not like it does to you. When you left, I felt as though I were wandering around in an empty room with the lights out and the doors locked. Let’s see how much more grim I can make it sound.”
“You’ll fall into step with it. I promise.”
“I did learn something out there. That I’ve lived a shallow life…and a soft life. Too easy. Not trouble-free emotionally when my father is around, but our money has diminished many of the hardships that most people face every day. Even though I don’t think I’ll be an exemplary farmer, the experience has been good for me.” Charlie eased her away, kissed her forehead, and said, “You’re welcome to stay in here and sit by the fire, but I need to go to bed.”
Franny held onto him. “Do you have to go so soon? It was just getting cozy.”
“I would love to visit the night away with you, but it’s more important to impress you with a good day’s work tomorrow.” He winked, but he looked like he meant it.
“All right.” Franny nodded. “As a fellow farmer, I can respect that. I should hit the hay too.”
Charlie picked up his jacket off the chair. “Shall we, then?” He placed his hand at the small of her back. “I’ll escort you to your wing.”
“Before we go…” Franny fingered his rolled-up sleeve. “I have something I have to tell you.” She’d tried to keep her fretting at bay all evening concerning her encounter with the porcelain clock, and she’d mostly succeeded, but now was the time to confess her transgression. To come clean with her deed. “I’ve been putting it off all evening. It might be nothing, and it might be something terrible. Only you can tell me which one it will be.” Franny mashed her lips between her two fingers.
Charlie grinned. “You always do that duck thing when you’re upset.”
“What duck thing?”
“What you’re doing right now with your lips.”
Franny removed her fingers from her lips, mortified that she’d been looking as feminine as waterfowl. “Oh.”
“Whatever it is, I absolve you from your guilt right now. It can’t be that terrible.”
“But I haven’t told you what it is yet,” Franny said.
“I don’t care. There’s nothing you can say that will make me feel any differently about you than I do right now. Nothing unless you tell me you are married.”
She laughed. “No, we’re safe with that one.”
“Then please tell me, so we can go to bed.”
Franny blushed.
“In separate wings.”
“I broke a clock. There, I said it. I didn’t mean to. I promise.”
Charlie looked relieved instead of upset. “Well, it’ll be one less clock for the maid to dust. I’m sure she’ll want to thank you in the morning.”
“But you should at least know which clock.” Franny picked up her gloves and fiddled with them. “When I was in the bedroom getting ready for this evening, I got curious about what was in the closet. You know, all the other dresses that your father mentioned. I guess closed doors always intrigue me. Not such a good trait, I’m sure.”
“That’s debatable, but go on.” He grinned.
“So I opened the door, and to my amazement the closet was empty except for a small porcelain clock on the floor. When I picked it up and fingered it, the little violin on the top broke off in my hands. I’m so very sorry, Charlie. I shouldn’t have—”
He quieted her by placing his finger over her lips. “I don’t care. That’s the nature of the Landau house. Things get broken. But I care nothing about porcelain clocks.”
“But what about your father?”
“I doubt he cares. We have way too many knickknacks around here. I’m glad to be rid of some of our old junk.”
“Are you sure?” Franny sighed. “I felt terrible about it.”
“You should be worrying about what’s important.”
“Like what?”
Charlie waved his hand. “I don’t know…like worrying that we’ll have too much rye grass in the wheat this year or that the next litter of piglets will get milk fever.”
Franny pulled back in amazement. “You sound like a real farmer.”
“I can read.” He cocked his head. “Your father left some farming books around.”
Charlie offered her his arm. “Now, my lady, if you’re ready, I’m going to escort you to your room. And then I’m going to give you a good-night kiss that will make the wallpaper blush.”
Ohh, such a great line. Franny was going weak at the knees just thinking about that very kiss when a shadow moved at the end of the hallway. But it was no shadow. It was Mr. Landau, and he’d been caught staring at them with the most malignant sneer. He quickly backed away into an open room. Fortunately Charlie hadn’t seen anything, but Franny would surely stay awake half the night wondering why Mr. Landau seemed friendly on the outside, but in an unguarded moment, his expression had darkened into malevolence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sugarplum-fairy dreams danced in Franny’s head all night, intermingled with mysterious beasts that lurked in every corner, poised and ready to lunge at her with the faintest provocation. Sleep could be such a brain stew of leftovers nobody wanted.
In the morning, breakfast at the Landau house turned out to be more pageantry than plentiful, and Charlie’s father felt it his duty to give them enough farming tips to choke a cow—maybe a whole herd. Mr. Landau was indeed a man who enjoyed being governor of all his affairs as well as his family’s.
After several weary farewells to the household, Charlie and Franny finally set out on their trip, disappointed that they had to make the drive in separate vehicles but grateful to be traveling back to the farm.
After Franny pulled up in the yard at home, she jumped out of her pickup truck and ran to the house to give Henry a hug. He welcomed her home with so many slobbery kisses that she toppled over laughing. “It’s so good to be home, Henry.” Nothing smelled or felt as good as home. “Merry Christmas a little early, boy.”
Charlie and Franny dismissed their temporary farmhand, thanking him profusely, and then changed into their work clothes.
A bit later Charlie and Franny stood in front of what was left of the barn. “Well, here it is,” he said. “Not much left but ashes, a piece of a wall, and a few blackened farm implements.”
The wind blew over the mound of rubble, making a sad, sighing sound as if it were mourning over the passing of an old friend. It certainly wasn’t a happy sight to see.
“I managed to save the tractor.” Charlie removed his hat and looked at her. “Someone from the insurance company has promised to come out.” He tugged on the pocket of her overalls. “Are you terribly disappointed to see it? Is this what you imagined? Or worse?”
“To be honest, it’s worse than I thought it would be, but it doesn’t matter, since we’ll enjoy watching a brand-new barn go up.” She ruffled his hair.
“Good. Well, I guess we’d better do our chores, since the cattle are lowing.” Charlie grinned. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means they missed us,” Franny said, “and they’re hungry.”
Side by side and all bundled up for the cold, they completed a multitude of farm chores, laughing and chatting through each task. Feeding the cattle. Slopping the hogs. Checking on Tutti and Frutti and their piglets. Gathering the eggs. Cleaning out the chicken house, which meant scooping manure out the window. Charlie’s leg had improved so much that he didn’t seem to even notice the chores. If he had any lingering pain, he never mentioned it. Perhaps the farm air had revived him.
Later, they drove into town for chicken feed as well as five bales of hay, since all the straw had been consumed by the fire. Charlie did the bulk of the loading while Franny wondered how she’d ever done all the work by herself. And more importantly, how she’d
done it without the camaraderie of such a wonderful friend.
Just friend? Not at all. She thought of their growing relationship—the sweet tendrils of affection that connected their hearts and pulled them closer each day. She hadn’t even realized how lonely she’d been before Charlie. He made her see all that she’d missed, all that she longed for in a companion.
By afternoon they were exhausted but happy. Charlie wiped his hands on his overalls and said, “I’ve been wondering about your childhood. You know, what you did for fun. I’d love for you to take me to your secret places.”
What an endearing request. “All right.” Franny set her feed bucket down and dusted off her gloves. “We have some time before it gets dark.” She looked up and paused to consider a stormy patch of sky, but since the blue-black clouds appeared to be rolling in the opposite direction, she ignored them.
With delight, Franny showed Charlie all her childhood hangouts. She took him to her shabby but beloved tire swing, where as a girl she’d tried to fly high enough to snatch pieces of cotton candy from the sky…although back then, she’d done little more than bruise her behind as well as her pride. Franny showed Charlie where the wild plums grew and then the gypsum cave, which wasn’t very big but held infinite possibilities for pretend adventures when she was growing up.
Charlie still wasn’t bored—amazingly—so she took him to the shallow pool where she’d made wedding cakes out of mud pies. And where she always found a gazillion tadpoles each spring. She’d called them her precious brood and nurtured them into frogs with bits of dried oatmeal and tender supplications. It had been a blissful life. Still was.
Charlie seemed fascinated with their explorations, so Franny kept going, taking him to an ancient metal barrel where her family had always burned their trash and where she’d hurled strings of firecrackers just to hear the chain of ka-bangs. And then—saving the best for last—Franny took him to her most secret place—the tree house nestled in the old elm where she’d spent most of her time dreaming. It became her summit, her castle, where all things were possible. Franny looked up at what was left of her tiny chateau—perhaps just the right size for little girls and an occasional elf or two. She grinned.
