Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  He could almost laugh out loud. Today was a turning point in his life, and nothing was going to ruin it.

  "Mamie!" The wonderful old black servant jumped in alarm, scattering silverware across the tabletop. When she saw Hunter, she held her chest with one hand and fanned herself with her apron.

  "Mistah Hunter! Lordie, what you screeching at me for? I ain't doin' nothin' to get screeched at. You don't never go around hollerin' at peoples. What got in your head?"

  Hunter grabbed Mamie by the shoulders and planted a loud, affectionate kiss on her massive cheek. He laughed at her saucer-sized eyes.

  "Mamie, I have never in my life been accused of 'screeching' until now." He pulled a chair to the table and dropped the napkin in his lap. "But who knows? Perhaps it will become a habit!" He ignored the curious look she gave him. "Have Emmaletta prepare a picnic. I plan to take Marin and Katie to the river for lunch."

  As Mamie lumbered past Hunter on the way to the kitchen, he playfully flicked the back of his hand against her enormous rump. She jumped again and rewarded him with the most disbelieving stare he'd ever seen. She reached out and slapped a hand on his forehead, feeling for a fever that didn't exist.

  "I feel fine, Mamie, and I'm completely sane. Maybe for the first time in my life!"

  When Mamie finally finished eying him and disappeared into the kitchen, Hunter plowed into the food before him like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

  *******

  Marin was quickly developing a whole new respect for mothers, both working and non-working. Maybe it was easier if a woman started out with a little tiny kid and worked her way up.

  At the moment, this kid seemed intent on needing or wanting something every time Marin lowered herself to a chair. The perfect solution proved to be something that entertained this little bundle of energy in a sitting position.

  Katie sat on Marin's lap, her hands in Marin's, her chubby index fingers pointed, while Marin helped her play "Chopsticks" for the thousandth time on the grand piano in the music room.

  At least this activity kept Marin from thinking too much about her dream last night. Or had it been a dream?

  "You play something now, Mawin." Katie looked up at her with big, serious eyes. "It's your turn."

  She was such a sweet little thing, even if she was exhausting.

  "Ok. Can you sit beside me for a while?"

  Katie squirmed off of Marin's lap and settled herself onto a straight back chair they'd pilfered from the dining room.

  Marin hadn't touched a piano since before she started her job as director of Pierce Hall. A hundred and twenty years and four months ago. She adjusted her position a bit, then played a couple scales to warm up. Katie clapped as if she'd just rendered a concert performance.

  "Moonlight Sonata" flowed from her fingers. She'd played it so many times she didn't even have to think about it. Katie clapped and moved to the edge of the chair as she studiously watched Marin's fingers.

  Marin tried her hand at "Memory" and did a pretty decent job of it until she got to the part with all the flats. She gave up on that song.

  "Play a happy song. Can you play a happy song?"

  A happy song. She couldn't think of one to play without sheet music in front of her. Then she remembered the one song she'd had to play in a high school production. The song all her friends made her play if she got within fifty feet of a piano. She looked down at Katie and smiled.

  "You want happy? This is as happy as I get."

  Her fingers pounded the ivory keys with a mind of their own as she banged out "Great Balls of Fire," Jerry Lee Lewis style. The good thing about the song was that no one could tell if she hit a few sour notes, which she did. Katie slid from her chair and stood at her elbow in rapt attention. When Marin hit the last note she spun around on the stool to bow to her audience of...two!

  Hunter stood just inside the door, obviously trying to decide how to react to the unusual music of the impromptu concert.

  "What a very interesting piece of music. I don't believe I have ever heard it before." He shoved away from the doorframe and sauntered into the room.

  Marin swiveled back and forth on the stool, trying to decide if she should say it.

  "Not likely, Mr. Pierce. It won't be written for another eighty years or so."

  She couldn't read the hint of his unwavering smile. He raised one dark brow and gazed at her.

  "Still suffering from the carriage accident? Perhaps Doctor Ritter should have another look at you."

  The statement was rhetorical rather than concerned. Marin simply returned his half-smile with one of her own.

  "Whatever you say, Mr. Pierce."

  He pulled his gaze from hers, reached down and tapped a high "C" on the piano several times. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

  Marin swiveled back to face the keyboard again. The warmth of his nearness, his outdoorsy scent caused fingers of heat to dance across her neck.

  "Oh, I...just...my dad...always..."

  His left hand reached around her and tapped a low "C." Both arms now flanked her as he continued to toy with the keyboard. She stared at the ivory and black keys, at the strong, dark hands with such nimble fingers, and every cell in her body ached. She swallowed hard.

  "Can you play this one?" His voice sounded uncharacteristically husky.

  Her hair rippled with the warm breath of his question, his lips so close to her ear she could almost feel them. He began playing a haunting, sweet melody that encircled her with the heat of his body. The ring of the notes sounded muffled through the roar of her heartbeat racing in her ears. She could feel every inch of his body wrapped around her, as though he held her in an embrace, but nowhere did his body actually touch hers. He just hovered there, pulling her like a magnet not quite within reach, his warm breath stirring the wisps of hair at her temples.

  Every muscle in her body tensed, her breathing slowed to near nothing, and she sat absolutely still while hot chills erupted across her body.

  She fought to slow her staccato heart. She fought the urge to lean back against him, so that his hands would lift from the piano and pull her closer. She fought the desire to turn her head the few short inches that would bring her lips to brush against his.

  She closed her eyes to block out the sight of his flowing hands. For one brief moment she allowed the flame he'd ignited within her to burn out of control, to consume her from her fingertips to her toes.

  And she reveled in it.

  Then, in the back of her mind, the image of a youthful ghost took shape. The image was a cold, drenching shower that reduced that inner fire to smoldering ashes.

  The music faltered to a stop in mid-measure. Neither of them moved a muscle. Marin prayed that he would rise and release her from the sweet prison of his arms. Though he had yet to move, she could almost feel him drawing nearer. If he touched her, all was lost. She couldn't fight his touch. The hair at her temples tickled her skin with his erratic breathing.

  "Did Mawin teach you how to do that, Papa? She's gonna teach me how." Katie's inquisitive little face ducked under Hunter's right arm and popped into view.

  A heartbeat of silence ended as they both released long-pent-up breaths. Marin's nerves twanged like taut piano wires. But bless Katie, for saving her from herself!

  Finally, Hunter removed his hands from beside her and rose to scoop Katie into his arms.

  "No, my mother saw to it that I learned to play." He narrowed his eyes and exaggerated a glare. "I was taught by a vicious old maid who held a sharp quill under my wrists and a ruler over my fingers." Katie's eyes widened and she twisted in his arms to look at Marin. "Don't worry, Katiedid." Hunter changed the glare to a grin. "There's not a sharp quill in the house."

  Katie giggled with delight. "Mawin calls me 'Katiedid' too, Papa!"

  He flicked a glance in Marin's direction with a smile that said "So we have something in common," then slapped his hands together and rubbed them with enthusiasm.

  "How would you two ladi
es like to go on a picnic this afternoon?"

  Katie clapped her hands and cried, "Oh yes, Papa. Yes!"

  All Marin could think of was an afternoon of torment, to be so close to Hunter, to see him happy and relaxed. It was difficult enough to keep her distance when he was overbearing and disagreeable. No, a picnic would not be a smart thing to do.

  "And how about Marin? Will she do us the honor of accompanying us?"

  She glanced up at Hunter, and he held her gaze. Lord, he could look like an innocent little boy when he wanted to. Both dimples were out in full force, cracking her resolve. Though her brain said "No," the word that came out was, "Sure."

  "Of course I am sure! Wonderful! I shall have Nathan hitch up the buggy while you ladies freshen up!" He spun Katie around as he lowered her to the floor. She squealed and giggled, then staggered when he let her go. "The buggy will be out front in five minutes." He bestowed one last, long smile at Marin, a smile that was anything but innocent. Then he strode from the room.

  Oh Yeah. She was in trouble.

  *******

  Hunter sat with his back against a tree and stared at Marin, trying to will her to turn around and look at him.

  She busied herself with laying out the food, positioning herself as far away from him as she could on the old quilt.

  He was sure she'd felt...something...as much as he had, when he'd trapped her at the piano. The world had ceased to exist for a few brief moments. He couldn't even recall when he'd stopped playing. There had just been him, and her, and that soft, flowery scent she wore that impaired his mind far more quickly and effectively than whiskey.

  He tired of watching her drag out the process of emptying the basket, so he hooked the handle with one booted foot and pulled the basket to him. She didn't quite look up, even though he knew she was watching. The woman was clearly uncomfortable.

  He rummaged through the remnants of the hamper, blessing Emmaletta as he pulled out a vintage bottle of wine and two stemmed goblets.

  Marin still wasn't openly watching him, but he was sure she knew every move he made. He found the corkscrew and opened the wine, then poured them each a healthy measure. For Katie he unearthed a small crock of milk.

  "Wine?" he asked as he extended one golden-filled goblet in her direction.

  "No thanks. Wine goes straight to my head." She still refused to look up, giving an inordinate amount of attention to placing each container of food just so.

  He made a great show of inspecting the remnants in the hamper, then offered the glass again with a helpless grin.

  "It seems there's nothing else to drink."

  This time she looked straight at him.

  "Oh, give it to me then," she said as she snatched the stemware from his fingers, sloshing wine over his hand. She took a sip, and then another, then met his eyes with a level gaze, as if to say, "Satisfied?"

  Hunter couldn't suppress the tiniest grin as he flicked away the wine. He quite enjoyed the defiant side of Miss Alexander.

  "Katie, come and eat," Marin called after breaking her gaze with his.

  Katie continued to stalk a colorful butterfly until it fluttered out of reach. Dejected, she returned to the quilt and knuckled her eyes with tiny fists. A huge yawn followed, but she perked up a bit when Marin handed out plates of fried chicken and mashed potato salad.

  Hunter refilled both wineglasses while Marin busied herself with the food. He raised his glass in salute.

  "To cool days in August."

  Marin hesitated only a second before touching her goblet to his with a ching. Katie popped up, giggling, joining the toast with her mug of milk. As Marin sipped her wine Hunter knew she watched him from beneath lowered lashes.

  "Papa, why couldn't Puffy and Angel come? They would like a picnic, too."

  "Because, Katiedid, Angel and the puppy would like the picnic too well. I If they would both be in the middle of all this food, and we would be left with nothing." Hunter reached over and topped off Marin's wine. "I believe I am safe in saying that we do not have the most well-behaved pets in Memphis."

  Katie yawned again and nodded. "Uh-huh. Puffy was naughty on the rug in the parlor yesterday."

  Hunter decided that lunch was not the time to find out the details of that particular event.

  Katie's eyelids drooped lower and lower, as did the half-eaten plateful of food. Marin intercepted the toppling china before it landed on the quilt. Gently, she lowered Katie to her side, where the little moppet curled into a ball, her thumb disappearing between her lips.

  They both watched Katie sleep for a few moments before resuming their meal in uncomfortable silence.

  He couldn't help but notice that Marin ate very little. She picked at her food a while longer, then sat her plate to the side and stared out at the river and the Arkansas landscape, her knees drawn up in front of her. Her wineglass dangled from slender fingers. Every now and then she took a sip.

  "It's amazing how it hasn't changed much," she said as she continued to study the Arkansas horizon.

  "What hasn't changed much?"

  The hum of insects, Katie's quiet breathing and the gentle lapping of water on the bank were the only sounds to be heard.

  Marin drew in a deep breath and turned to face him. She held out her glass to be refilled. He filled first hers and then his own. She seemed disinclined to answer his question, content with just looking at him.

  As she held his gaze she sipped from the crystal goblet. When she lowered the glass to once more dangle from her fingers, her lips were moist with the sweet, white wine. One pale gold bead hovered on her lower lip before her tongue slowly appeared to lick it away.

  His entire body flared with aching longing. It took a supreme act of will to suppress the moan rising in his throat, to keep from pinning her to the lush grass with his lips on hers.

  Instead, he just drained his wineglass. She did the same, then extended the empty glass to be filled again.

  "I thought you said wine goes straight to your head." He hesitated before pouring.

  "I did. It has. Now I might as well enjoy it."

  She leaned back on her elbows, her head thrown back to gaze at the sky through leafy branches. After several moments she closed her eyes and eased farther down to recline on the quilt, her head just inches from Hunter's thigh.

  He stared at her face, so flawless with that porcelain skin, a hint of healthy pink dusted across her cheeks. It would take such little effort to lean over and claim those lips with his.

  His glance shifted to a sleeping Katie. He quietly thumped his head against the tree, reminding himself of where he was and who he was with. Katie could wake at any moment.

  To take his mind from the woman who lay so achingly near to him, he snatched up a bunch of grapes from a bowl of fruit and began popping them, one by one, into his mouth.

  "Can I have one?" Marin looked up at him from her vantage point on the quilt.

  That seemed a safe enough request. He plucked a grape from its stem and held it out to her. She made no move to take it from him. She simply opened her mouth and tilted her head farther back. His heart thudded faster at this intimate gesture, and when he attempted to drop the grape into her waiting mouth, it bounced off her lower lip, rolled across her pleated bodice and plopped into the grass. She smiled up at him, patiently waiting while he tried not to fumble plucking another.

  This time he lowered the morsel of fruit to her lips. She captured it between even, white teeth and held it there for a moment before slowly taking it into her mouth and chewing it as if it were the rarest of delicacies.

  "Mmmmmm. That was good." She peered up at him again, a sultry smile sending waves of heat across his neck. The heat intensified when she slowly raised her fingers to her lips and, with painstaking care, removed the seed from the tip of her tongue. "Can I have another?"

  He wanted to bang his head against the tree again, to pound some sense into his besotted brain, but instead he picked the most perfect grape and lowered it to her lips
.

  Along with the grape, her lips closed around his finger, the hot amber of her gaze telling him it was no accident. Liquid fire shot to the very core of him, then erupted again when her warm tongue traced a lazy path along his fingertip. The gentle suction of her mouth jolted him with more force than a shot of bad whiskey, but he was helpless to remove his finger from between her lips.

  His skin tasted of white wine and fresh grape and that special taste belonging just to men.

  Somewhere in her wine-clouded mind Marin knew she was asking for trouble, but at the moment she didn't care. She'd been on her guard almost constantly since the moment she'd arrived, and it seemed every time she let her guard slip a notch she would have that dream again. She pushed the thought from her mind and basked in the lazy heat that snaked through her body, revelling in the purely sensual sensations of her tongue on Hunter's skin.

  Hunter's finger jerked from between her lips at the sound of an approaching horse. For the briefest of moments he reminded her of a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn't, then the man was back, all serious business.

  He rose, rather stiffly she noted with amusement, then helped her to her feet. She tried her best not to weave back and forth, to have a sober expression on her face. Really, it was too ridiculous that she couldn't drink a glass of wine without feeling like it'd been poured directly onto her brain.

  Nathan dismounted and brought a piece of paper to Hunter.

  "This just come for you, suh. William done sent you somethin' on the wireless."

  Marin watched as Hunter ripped open the envelope and read the message within. His face became a stony blank as he crumpled the paper in his fist. He looked out over the river, ignoring everyone. Marin reached over and touched his arm.

  "Is it your mother? Is she ill?"

  Hunter continued to stare across the water for several moments, seeing something that only he could see. He blinked once, as if blinking away the vision, while the paper crackled in his fist.

  "A tornado hit the crop yesterday during the storm. The crop is lost."