by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
He grunted something in reply and, to her relief, picked up the fork. His other hand searched the other side of his plate, brushed over a spoon, then came to rest on the table in a loose fist. Intently she watched him spear a piece of roast, scowl, and take a bite.
“I’m not an invalid or a baby,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t have to cut up my food for me. I’m perfectly capable of using a knife. You don’t have to keep them out of my reach.”
“Oh.” Her face warmed. “I wasn’t trying to do any such thing. I—I was only trying to help.”
He expelled a low breath and gave a reluctant nod.
After his first few bites, the revolutions of his fork from plate to mouth steadily increased until he was practically shoveling food inside. Happy just to stand and watch him now that the lion was calm for once, her eyes feasting on his person after having been deprived so long, she waited until he finished with dessert. Silently she congratulated herself that for a man who claimed he wasn’t hungry, he’d just managed to consume his meal in under five minutes.
She gathered the empty dishes. “I might be a little late tomorrow. I’m shopping with a friend.”
He didn’t respond but, for once, didn’t tell her not to bother returning.
Clemmie smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Chapter 6
Clemmie turned the page, her mind absorbed in the fictional and fantastical world of angels and monsters.
“Must you be so loud with that?”
Startled into the present, she looked across the table where Joel sat, brooding.
“Must you be so dour all the time?” she shot back. “If you knew how to use that tongue in your head to converse instead of just snap at people, maybe we could have a decent conversation for once, and I wouldn’t have to resort to keeping my mind occupied with reading.”
He growled in disgust and crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head away.
Earlier in the week she’d brought another chair from Thea’s house so she could sit, too. At the moment, however, she was sorely tempted to vacate the chair and his dismal company and escape to pleasant surroundings. Only the rain prevented her departure. What had begun fifteen minutes ago in a sudden downpour effectively trapped her inside his cage. Usually she left the door open when she visited his shed, for fresh air and better lighting than what the lamp could give; today she’d needed to close the door to block out the torrential downpour.
She also felt like growling.
During the past week, relations between them had been stormy but did have calmer moments. Moments when he didn’t yell at her or throw things but accepted her presence as a master begins to accept a new servant hired without his approval or knowledge. After days of working for Joel and talking with Thea, Clemmie had learned such erratic mood swings and fits of temper were normal patterns for Joel. The doctor who’d attended him warned to expect such behavior because of whatever caused the pressure to his brain. He never physically harmed her, though. Even when he threw things her way, he always missed, and she wondered if his misses were intentional, meant only to frighten her away, since he always seemed shockingly on target with every other action. His acerbic words, however, found their mark and stung only because Joel said them.
Yet she had formed an invisible armor long ago at the Refuge, with the many young hoodlums the judge ordered there, most of them coming from living off the street and impolite society, so she managed to let his insults bounce off her, too—when she wasn’t snapping back at him. A fault of hers, responding in kind. Because of their shared history, of which he was still unaware, Joel had the ability to hit the nerve that controlled her cross nature every time.
She had passed the one-week trial period, and much to her surprise, he hadn’t terminated her employment as he’d threatened. She didn’t ask why, not wanting to tamper with a good thing and possibly cause the tide to turn against her favor. Right now, however, she would give her classic book collection in exchange for the sun to return so she could retreat from his maddening company.
The day had not started well. One thing after another went wrong, and she’d been late to arrive, to find Thea also out of sorts, not wanting to talk, and the children both crying. Clemmie’s mood had already been topping the red zone of her emotional thermometer. Add to that, Joel had been the epitome of churlish disdain from the moment she walked inside.
Out of sheer spite, she turned the page, making sure to rustle it loudly. She turned another. And another …
“Just what kind of book are you reading?” Joel groused after the sixth turn. “A child’s primer?”
Confused by such a question, she stopped mid-page rustle. “What do you mean?”
“There must be only one paragraph on a page for you to turn them so constantly.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she laughed. Her mood lightened a bit—surprisingly thanks to Joel’s dry words—and she felt a twinge of guilt for acting so childishly. “I’m reading a book my mother gave me. The Pilgrim’s Progress.”
“That sounds familiar.”
She told him a little of what it was about, and he cut her off mid-sentence, sounding almost civil. “I remember that one.”
“You read it?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I do—or at least did—read.” His tone came out wry again.
She thought of asking why he’d never tried Braille or even suggesting he start but decided against it, not wanting him to slip back into a brooding silence. “Was it for a school assignment?” She asked the first thing that came to mind.
“No. I did read but not that one. I heard someone else read it. The lady who ran the Refuge. She had a friend, a viscountess who visited from England one year, shortly after I came home on furlough. Strange thing that …” His voice trailed off. “They weren’t always chums, more like enemies. At least I know they weren’t friendly with one another when they sailed on the Titanic.’
Clemmie held her breath during his explanation, realizing he was talking about her mother. “Oh?”
“Interesting story. Mrs. Lyons—only she wasn’t married then—robbed the viscountess of a family heirloom. In the end she got it back and forgave Mrs. Lyons. Later she donated the necklace to help in funding the Refuge. They became good friends after that. She gave Mrs. Lyons a copy of that book when she visited the States. Mrs. Lyons had developed a habit of reading classics to the children once a week, and I joined in a few nights to listen. Not that I remember much. I heard maybe three chapters before my leave was up.” He shrugged.
Clemmie caressed the cover of the old book, realizing this must be the same copy Lady Annabelle had given her mother. She’d been twelve at the time and had greatly admired the soft-spoken, regal woman who braved her fear of sinking ships to cross an ocean again with her husband, Lord Caldwell.
“Would you like me to read to you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could hold them back. Worried he might take her offer wrong, she fumbled to add, “to help pass the time. Since you never heard the rest of the story.”
When he didn’t speak, she closed the book. “It was only a suggestion. Forget I mentioned it. I just thought it might—”
“Okay.”
“What?”
His brow went up. “Have you forgotten your question so soon?”
“Of course not. Do you mean you would like me to read to you? Or to forget it?”
“Is that the question you asked?”
She hissed a breath through her teeth. “Must you always make things so difficult, Joel Litton? Can’t you just give me a straight answer?”
His mouth twitched in what she thought might become a smile. “All right. Read to me, Marielle.”
She blinked. “Is that an order?”
“Did it sound like one?”
“Doesn’t it always?”
Joel laughed, and Clemmie forgot to breathe.
It was the first time she’d heard him laugh
since their days together at the Refuge, and the deep, rich sound of his spontaneous laughter warmed her spirit, soothing away all the previous hurt and angst he’d caused.
“Please read to me.” His tone slightly mocked, but his voice came soft and silken, his entreaty matching his expression.
Clemmie hoped she could make her vocal cords work, and if they did, she prayed her voice would sound normal. She felt suddenly flushed and out of kilter. How could the room at once feel so hot when the clouds were pouring chilled water outside?
She opened the book to the first chapter.
Joel tucked his hands beneath his armpits, tilting his head back to rest his neck on the tall chair rim as her quiet, husky voice washed over him. She had a beautiful voice … warm, gentle when she wasn’t upset with him, and Joel was reminded of the place where he grew up and the people there.
In the week and a half she had worked for him, the manner in which he heard her say a few words or trite phrases of Darcy’s or Brent’s or Charleigh’s, the same words that he and Herbert also unintentionally adopted, reminded him of his past at the farm. That must be how she knew such sayings, being around Thea and Herbert. Or maybe they were more popular than he realized.
While she spoke of the quest of a man named Pilgrim and the descriptions of the strange beings he encountered, he found himself wondering what she looked like. If one could match voice to appearance, she was tall for a woman with a self-assured poise. Dark hair. Darker eyes. Deep brown and mysterious, ones that could see right through to a person’s soul and not let him get away with anything. He was surprised he could remember color; so much else had faded from his memory.
“Are you even listening?”
Startled out of his thoughts, he gave an involuntary jump.
“What?”
“You’re not listening,” she gently accused. “Were you sleeping? Your eyes were closed.”
He heard her little gasp of remorseful awareness and grinned bitterly. “Not that it matters either way, but no, I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I’m sorry.”
He brushed aside her weak apology, not wanting to dwell on the reason for it. “That’s enough reading for one day.”
“But I haven’t finished the second chapter!”
“It’s stopped raining. I’m sure you want to get out of here while you can.”
“Would you rather I did?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“I’d like to stay.”
Her quiet admission confused him. “Why? I’m not what you could call good company.”
“I like being with you. When you’re nice.”
He snorted a laugh. “If you were to tally up the occurrences of me being ‘nice’ over the past week and a half, the scales wouldn’t exactly tip in my favor.”
She exhaled in exasperation. “That’s your choice. You can be nice when you choose to be. And when you are, you’re pleasant to be around.”
He scoffed. “Why care so much?”
“Pardon?” A sudden hitch tightened her voice.
“Why do you care what the blind man feels? Why do you even want to be around me?”
For a moment he didn’t think she would answer. When she did, her words snapped with exasperation, and he sensed she held back the extent of her anger. “That’s your problem in a nutshell, Joel Litton. You have this crazy idea that your condition makes you some sort of leper of the human race. And that’s so far from the truth, as east is from the west. The only handicap putting up barriers to people wanting to be around you is your constant boorish attitude and spiteful behavior.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so.”
He could picture her crossing her arms in belligerence, not willing to back down. Rather than spar further, he decided he’d had enough.
“You can go now.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“If you want to call it that, fine.” Her silence prodded him to add, “It’s getting late. You shouldn’t walk home in the dark.”
He heard her sudden intake of breath. “It’s nice of you to care.”
Her words came out uncertain, almost a whisper, and for some reason they rubbed him the wrong way. “If you got mugged or worse, it’d be hard on Thea. She’d blame herself.”
“Well, at least you care about someone’s feelings.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her dry remark. He listened to the rustles and clinks of her gathering her things and the dishes from his meal. Her footsteps tapped to the door.
“All right. I’ll go. We wouldn’t want Thea to feel any unnecessary guilt should anything happen to me.” The door creaked open.
“Marielle?”
A few seconds elapsed before she answered. “Yes?”
“Bring that book when you come tomorrow.”
Chapter 7
Seven little words, but they had the power to boost Clemmie’s outlook on Operation Save Joel. For the first time in almost two weeks, she glimpsed an elusive ray of hope. Not only had he not ordered her out, he’d almost given his consent for her return by stating she would come and had expressed a desire for her to read to him again. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.
Yet while the situation had mellowed between her and Joel and they had achieved workable boundaries, if not a friendship, one irritating factor dampened this new turn of events. Thea broached it before Clemmie had a chance to leave the following evening.
“You still haven’t told him who you are, have you?” Thea shook her head, answering her own question. “Of course you haven’t. If you had, things wouldn’t be so quiet around here. Joel would have gotten in a lather by now.”
“Is that what you want?” Clemmie regarded her, unflinching. “For Joel to get upset? Because that’s what’ll happen. And then I’d never be able to talk him into it.”
“Into what? The operation?”
“Yes. No … maybe.” Clemmie spread her hands, in an attempt to explain. “It’s about so much more than an operation. It’s about getting on with living again. Joel has given up, and I want to know why. I think this goes deeper than just bitterness over his physical condition.”
“And you don’t think asking him as Clemmie would be the same?”
“Asking him as Clemmie will get me the bum’s rush, booted out the door.”
Thea took a seat at the table. “Then let me ask you this: What makes the future any different? What makes you think it wouldn’t be even worse?”
“Pardon?”
“He’ll know at some point. You can’t go on lying to him forever. And then he’ll feel betrayed.”
Clemmie flinched at the word lying, and her heart dropped at betrayed. She knew speaking falsely was wrong, but in extenuating circumstances, some deceit could be helpful, couldn’t it? Her own mother had assumed another identity after being rescued from the Titanic, in order to evade the man who’d almost killed her. If she’d given her real name for the survivors’ list instead of the name of one of many who had drowned that night, would she be alive today?
“It’s complicated.”
Thea threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s going to be a whole lot more complicated if you continue with this ruse. Joel may be a lot of things right now, but he’s not dumb. Have you thought of this: What if he finds out before you can tell him?”
A piercing scream came from nearby, followed by a wail of pain. Clemmie jumped in her chair, and Thea was up and down the hallway in a flash.
Soon Thea reappeared with her youngest, leading her by the hand. A knotted kerchief hung loosely around Loretta’s neck as if it had been a blindfold. Fresh blood trickled from a minor cut on her knee. Thea set her trembling daughter on a kitchen chair and went to wet a towel.
“What happened, sweetheart?” She knelt in front of her and pressed the compress to her knee. “You’ve been having so many accidents lately.”
The child sniffled, wincing as Thea cleaned the cut. “I—I wanted to see what i
t’d be like.”
“What what would be like?”
“To be Uncle Joel.”
Clemmie drew in a sharp breath and exchanged a look with Thea.
“I thought I could do better and not fall down. But I can’t remember where everything is. I fell on my blocks. They hurted and poked my knee.” The doorbell rang.
“You’ve got your hands full.” Feeling suddenly flustered, Clemmie offered, “I’ll get that.”
Hannah stood outside the front door like a godsend. “Mother and I finished with things at the bazaar early this evening and thought you might need a lift.” Clemmie noticed the chauffeur sitting outside in the Rolls.
“Yes, let me grab my things.”
Inside the kitchen she said a quick farewell to Thea.
“Remember what we talked about,” Thea said somberly, glancing up at Clemmie.
“How could I forget? Bye, Loretta.” She forced a smile. “I hope you feel better soon.”
Farewells made, Clemmie hurried to the car. All during the drive, while listening to Hannah’s bubbly conversation, her mind revolved around what Loretta had said as she tried to block out Thea’s more sobering words. Three conversations, two of them silent, made it difficult to concentrate, and she asked Hannah to repeat herself more than once.
At dinner that night, Clemmie tried to participate in the conversation with Hannah’s family and share in their excitement about the upcoming fair, but she could barely follow the discussion. Her mind was still back in Thea’s kitchen.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Hannah’s mother asked. “You seem not quite yourself this evening.”
Clemmie managed a reassuring smile. “I’m just tired.”
“I understand you’ve been hard at work helping Thea during this summer break. A sweet thing to do, but not very restful. Why not turn in early, and I can send you up some hot tea?”
“Thank you. That sounds lovely.” Clemmie’s gaze dropped to the table. She felt a little remorseful for swearing Hannah to secrecy regarding Joel. Hannah’s mother still had no idea he lived a few miles away.
