The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  “Wait,” Clemmie said with a laugh. “My luggage!”

  “Oh—sorry!” Hannah giggled. “I’m just so excited to finally have you with us.”

  Hannah’s father met them at the baggage car with a warm welcome for Clemmie and retrieved her luggage. Trailing her father, who toted both bags, Hannah filled Clemmie in on as much as she could in the short distance they had to walk.

  “… Mama has a picnic planned after church Sunday. Everyone will be there. You might see Herbert, too. He and his wife go to our church and—”

  “Wait—what?” Clemmie stopped midstep and turned to Hannah.

  “Herbert Miller. From the Refuge.”

  “Herbert and his wife live in Cedarbrook?” she asked in amazement.

  “I thought you knew. When he quit working for my father and got that job at the paper, he met Thea. They had planned to move to where her family now lives—in Maine.”

  “That much I knew. They decided to stay?”

  “Yes. Since the house is bought and paid for, it gives them a sure place to live. It’s small, but they seem to like it. I think it once belonged to a member of her family. I heard the story but can’t remember details.” Hannah gave an unconcerned toss of her head.

  “They don’t live far from my uncle’s. Within cycling distance. You could pay her a call if you like. She must be lonely since she has only her two little girls to talk to all day while Herbert’s at work.”

  Clemmie didn’t ask why Hannah never visited Thea. Her fifteen-year-old cousin, sweet as she could be, had a touch of snobbishness, though she wasn’t unkind. Her few faults aside, Hannah made a good friend, and Clemmie had her own batch of shortcomings and so knew better than to judge anyone.

  Once the chauffeur pulled the Rolls Royce into the winding drive of the estate, Clemmie’s eyes widened theatrically. Having the chauffeur waiting at the car and opening the doors for them had been bizarre enough. She’d never had a stranger wait on her before. But this … she felt almost like a princess or maybe a pauper coming to abide at a fairy-tale castle.

  Lyons’ Refuge was big—it had to be with all the children her parents housed—but this home was majestic, a haven for the wealthy, bigger than her grandfather’s manor. Round turrets flanked both ends of the pale stone dwelling, the architectural design of the house medieval. Pink roses and ivy climbed the walls. The arched window above the double front doors was composed of so many different shades of glass that in the sunlight, it glowed with iridescence.

  “My great-uncle has a thing for the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. He had the house designed. Wait till you see the inside!”

  The inside of the monolith reflected its exterior grandeur. Clemmie’s mouth dropped open in amazement, and Hannah giggled. “He isn’t home much, what with his canned tuna business and constant business trips. He isn’t home now. Just Mama and the rest of the family.”

  A beautiful woman with glossy black hair and exotic features glided into the foyer. Her skin was still incredibly smooth, her hair not silvered one iota. She looked like she could be Hannah’s sister, though Clemmie knew this was Sarah, her mother. She wore a common, blue cotton dress, seeming out of place in so fine a home, but her manner was regal.

  “Clemmie,” she said, smiling and moving forward to hug her. “It’s so nice to have you come stay with us.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Thomas.” She smiled. “And your family? They are well?”

  “Yes, they send their love.”

  The remainder of the evening passed smoothly. Hannah’s brothers and sisters were quiet, nowhere near as boisterous as the children at the Refuge, including Clemmie’s own siblings. She wondered if they were on their best behavior or if they always acted docile and well behaved. After supper she went upstairs to the room she’d been given. Her friend appeared at the door, just as Clemmie put the last of her things away.

  “Oh, Clemmie.” Hannah dropped to the bed in a foul temper. “I forgot I promised Mama I’d help her catalog items for the bazaar. She just reminded me. It’s such a bore, and I don’t want to burden you by asking you to come along on your first real day here. But I hate to leave you alone. I’ll be gone at least four hours every afternoon. It’s dreadfully tedious work. So many donations.” She sighed. “But I promised.”

  Clemmie was awful at itemizing and categorizing. She feared that if she did offer her aid, she’d be more hindrance than help. “I don’t mind having some time to myself.” She pondered an idea. “If you give me directions to Thea’s, perhaps I can visit while you’re at the bazaar.”

  “That’s a marvelous idea! Then I know you’ll be entertained. It’s easy to find their house. They live a few miles from here. I’ll loan you my bicycle.”

  Clemmie thought about her uncoordinated lower limbs. “I prefer to walk.”

  “Walk?” Hannah regarded her as if the word were foreign to her vocabulary.

  Clemmie laughed. “It’s okay. On the farm I do a lot of it.”

  So mentally armed with directions and eager for a chat with Herbert’s wife, Clemmie set out the next day for a visit. The air felt bracing though tolerable, the neighborhood opulent. The farther she walked, the more crowded and less flagrant the houses appeared, more like she felt real homes ought to look.

  Coming upon a quaint house beyond a short picket fence, Clemmie reasoned this must be Herbert’s residence since it was the only blue-shuttered house on the street. An abandoned pile of wooden blocks sat to one side of the porch, waiting for their small owner’s return. Somewhere a dog barked, and bees hummed from nearby hydrangea bushes.

  Clemmie straightened her hair, her blouse, and her skirt then rang the bell. She ought to have called first, but Hannah didn’t know the number or if the Millers even owned a phone. That seemed strange to Clemmie; her father had installed a telephone at Lyons’ Refuge when they first were made available to residential homes, though since they ran a children’s reformatory, the expense had been not only helpful but also necessary.

  The door opened. A short, pretty, brown-haired woman with a weary smile and welcoming eyes looked at her.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Thea. You might not remember me, but I was at your wedding. I’m Clemmie Lyons, Charleigh and Stewart’s daughter. From the Refuge.”

  Thea’s eyes grew wide. At first Clemmie thought she saw alarm but decided it must have been from her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight, since Thea then smiled.

  “Of course I remember you. Herbert talks about his days there all the time.” She hesitated. “Do come in. He’s at work at the newspaper office, and it’s just me and Loretta. Bethany’s at school.”

  “Hello there.” Clemmie smiled at the little girl, who peered shyly up behind her mother’s skirts. “What a pretty dolly you have.”

  Loretta smiled bashfully. Clemmie at once felt a bond with Loretta, seeing the little girl’s head of bright copper-red hair.

  Thea led Clemmie inside, to the back of the house and the kitchen. Their home was cheery, not neat as a pin like the mansion she’d just left, what with bits of evidence here and there that this place housed two little girls. But it was inviting and warm, like the Refuge. Only Thea’s manner seemed distant, as she darted an anxious glance out a window facing the backyard.

  “Would you like some refreshment? I’ll make coffee.” Thea stopped suddenly, her hand on the scoop in the coffee grounds. “You do like coffee?”

  “Coffee sounds wonderful.” Clemmie felt awkward. “Did I come at a bad time? I could return later.”

  “What …?” Thea looked at her again, distracted. “No. Now is fine. It’s nearing noon, and Herbert should be home for lunch unless things at the paper are busy. But you’re welcome to stay.”

  Her words were gracious, only her tone didn’t sound welcoming. The sudden reverberations of a bell proved that Herbert did own a phone. “I’ll just be a minute.” Thea hurried from the sideboard and disappeared into the hall.

  Loretta watched
from the doorway, creeping closer to Clemmie. The girl’s bashfulness dissolved into delight as she glanced at the window.

  “Kitty!” she pointed, with a sunny smile at Clemmie, then darted for the door.

  Clemmie had a glimpse of orange fur shooting away from the pane before Loretta flung open the door and raced outside.

  Clemmie paused only a moment before going after her. The child, she knew, was only three and too young to be left outside on her own. Clemmie’s lifetime of experience looking after her brothers and sisters told her that much.

  “See my kitty?” Loretta asked Clemmie with delight. An orange tabby evaded Loretta’s small, chubby hands as the child pounced. The kitten scampered toward a shed a short distance away, or rather what looked like a shed at first glance. Clemmie noticed a chair sitting on boards that formed a short porch under an overhang, all of it enclosed by a railing. A few abandoned toys lay near the wall. Perhaps it was the children’s playhouse, though it seemed too big for that.

  All interest in the whereabouts of the cat forgotten, Clemmie watched the door to the small dwelling open and a man step into the shadow of the overhang. She squinted through the glare of the sun, trying to get a good look at him as she drew close. His hair was fair, not red, so it couldn’t be Herbert, and he stood tall and slender, not short like Thea’s husband. He stepped out farther, crossing the line of shadow into sunlight.

  Clemmie’s heart seemed to stop beating. She felt dizzy, as if she might swoon, and experienced a rush of energy at the same time.

  “Loretta? Is that you?” His piercing blue eyes looked in Clemmie’s direction, staring at her as if reaching deep into her soul. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move if a brush fire started beneath her feet. “Tell me that blasted cat isn’t on the loose and under my feet again, ready to trip me.”

  Joel!

  There was no mistaking his identity; his face, though slightly altered with time and bearing a scruffy mustache and beard, had been imprinted on her memory for years, aided by yearly photographs her mother had organized for those who lived at the Refuge. The man from whom she had yearned even one word of communication or the barest glimpse now stood before her in the flesh, with only the length of several grassy feet between them.

  She curbed the immediate impulse to fly into his arms and wrap hers tightly around his neck in exuberant relief, as she’d done at his arrival to the farm three years before, during his last visit home.

  Something wasn’t right.

  He moved closer to the porch edge, while all the time she felt as if she were living in a bizarre dream. He stared straight at her but didn’t seem to know her. Had she changed so much? She’d grown taller, her body more curvaceous and womanly, her hair almost auburn; but her face hadn’t altered so greatly that he should look at her as if she were a complete stranger. He appeared similar to the last photograph she’d seen, though his unkempt hair had grown roguishly long, to brush the tops of his shoulders. And then there was that beard. She noticed he was as slim and well built as ever, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. She pulled her brows together in concern. On deeper study he seemed too slender, as if he’d not been eating lately … or eating well.

  That she should quietly ponder such things while her heart had awakened and was hammering cartwheels against her ribs amazed her.

  “Who are you?” His body tensed as he wrapped his hand around the post, using it to step down. “Who’s there …? I know you’re there. Speak up! I can hear your clothes rustle in the wind.”

  Her vocal cords as frozen as the rest of her, Clemmie drew in a sharp audible breath, pain crushing her heart and filming her eyes with tears. He jerked his head as if he’d heard her bare inhalation of air.

  Oh, God, no … please no … don’t let it be true….

  But the longer she watched him, the more she realized her incoherent prayer came in vain. Joel frowned, an anxious expression momentarily touching his eyes … his remarkable, crystalline eyes. Heavenly blue eyes that always had and still did make her heart shift in beats. Eyes that now looked straight through her …

  Because they couldn’t see her.

  Her dear sweet Joel was blind.

  Chapter 2

  How? How had such a horrible tragedy happened to such a handsome young man who’d had everything going for him, who had once been brimming over with vitality and life? Joel was still beautiful, his features like that of a Raphaelite angel—or at least what Clemmie could see above his beard. As he slowly drew near, she could see faint lines never there before, and his skin had become a shade sallow, as though he didn’t go outdoors as often as he once had.

  She wanted to weep bitterly, wanted to turn on her heel and run back the way she had come, far and fast. At the same time, she wanted to run to him and hold him tightly in a strange mix of relief and despair. But she knew he would scorn any show of pity. So she stood, silent and dumb as a scarecrow, while he continued to draw closer.

  “Why won’t you speak?” he snapped. “You never see a blind man before?” He snorted in impatience. “You can’t pretend you’re not there. I’m not fooled by your silence, even if my eyes can be.”

  His voice lacked any real emotion, except to snap with sarcasm. This was a Joel she didn’t know. His surliness both unnerved and saddened her.

  He took in a long, deep breath through his nostrils. “I can smell your scent. Thea doesn’t grow lilacs. I know you’re there—so speak up, confound you!”

  He came to a stop, only a foot away. She couldn’t take her eyes off his flawless features, his beautiful, clear, useless eyes. She brushed away the tears that dripped down her cheeks.

  “Loretta left the house while Thea was on the phone—” She blundered the reply, barely aware of what she said. Her voice had grown huskier over the years, was hoarse now, and she suddenly felt grateful he wouldn’t recognize it. “I didn’t think she should be left unattended.”

  “Yes, I hear her giggling. And that darn cat yowling. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  “I’m—I’m an acquaintance of Thea’s.” Clemmie wasn’t sure why she gave that explanation, so she rambled aimlessly on. “I came to—to see about …” She stopped, realizing she couldn’t air her key reason for her visit—to discover if Herbert or Thea knew of Joel’s whereabouts. Clearly they did.

  “To see about … a job as a nanny?” he filled in when she didn’t continue, his manner curt. “Or maybe you’re a curiosity seeker from the neighborhood, eager to learn what terrible secret Thea’s been hiding in her backyard?” With that flair Joel still possessed, he swept his hand before his person from collarbone to thigh. “So, had your fill of gawking yet?”

  The sudden slam of the kitchen door alerted Clemmie to Thea’s presence. A rapid glance showed the woman hurrying their way, alarm in her eyes. Clemmie forestalled her before she could speak, her mind instantly jumping into gear.

  “I’m not any such thing. My name’s Marielle.” She gave her middle name before Thea could introduce them. She sensed Thea gape at her. “I’ve come for a visit. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing.” Joel didn’t curb his caustic words. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m done providing entertainment for the day.” He whipped around before she could respond and stomped back to the porch as though he’d trod the course often and had it memorized.

  He entered the shed-like building. The slam of the door shot through the air like the report of a shotgun. Neither woman spoke. At last Clemmie looked at Thea, who appeared almost remorseful.

  “We need to talk,” she said quietly, and Thea nodded, leading the way back to the kitchen.

  Clemmie sat down at the table, feeling like an invisible puppeteer must have control of her limbs; she didn’t understand how she could be moving them. She stared into the cup of coffee Thea set before her, not even thinking to add her usual lump of sugar. Right now she needed it black. Black and strong.

  She took a sip, wincin
g as the liquid scalded her tongue. A thousand questions flew through her mind, and she grabbed one at random. “I’m assuming he lives here?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  Thea exhaled deeply. “He didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “That’s obvious. But now I do. So you no longer have any reason to conceal such information.”

  Thea reluctantly nodded. “Herbert found him over a year ago.”

  “Found him?”

  “In a hospital. He’d been searching. Joel usually kept contact, but then all correspondence abruptly ended. The reporter in Herbert investigated and found him.” Clemmie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest, but she needed to know.

  “How did it happen?”

  “He was better than you see him now, when Herbert found him. Well, physically, that is. Emotionally he was a wreck, much like he is today. Only he’s grown more bitter. At first Joel took a job with Herbert at the newspaper. Shortly after that he started complaining of headaches and began losing his vision a little at a time. One day he couldn’t see at all.”

  “But how?”

  “An accident. He’d been out of the Navy for a while. From what I understand, he was with friends when it happened. One of them was driving and lost control. The driver was killed, and Joel was badly hurt—thrown from the car. Strangely there were no signs of blindness then. It took about a month. I don’t remember the medical reasons Herbert gave, but Joel’s been walking around like half a man ever since. Hiding here. Becoming a recluse. We tried to get him to move in with us, into the house, but he refused. Herbert almost had to twist his arm to get him to accept our help—and you know what best friends those two have always been. We finally convinced him to stay, but he was resolute about keeping his distance. He insisted on living in the shed, and Herbert finally agreed, making the necessary adjustments. It was the only way he could keep an eye on Joel. Herbert has been very concerned about him; we both have.”