The New England: ROMANCE Collection

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

  “Stop fidgeting,” he explained, “or you’re going to bruise me black and blue.” The admonition was extreme. Though they sat with their sides touching, she could hardly bruise him from wriggling around. But he felt every movement she made, even sensed those he didn’t physically experience, and to have her so close was doing strange things to his mental faculties, bringing back thoughts of her sitting on his lap and their kiss.

  And she had kissed him back that night, though it took days for him to acknowledge it. Did she kiss him out of pity? Curiosity? If for neither of those reasons, what was her motive?

  What was his?

  His motivation to understand her, to know her, clashed with his reluctance to have anything to do with her, all of his feelings becoming increasingly blurred as the weeks elapsed. Lately she reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t place her, and he wondered if he’d met her at a party or an acquaintance’s house.

  Such a likelihood seemed improbable, because he didn’t remember meeting anyone in the month before he went blind who fit Marielle’s description. Besides, if they had met before, wouldn’t she have mentioned it?

  He thought about asking her but was cut off by Loretta’s excited squeal, just as he’d been interrupted by the cat’s yowl earlier when he’d tried to get Marielle’s full name.

  “We’re here! We’re here!”

  At the cry that their destination had been reached, Joel’s fears resurfaced. Herbert opened the door on his side while the chauffeur helped the women out the other side. Herbert’s hand touched his sleeve, but Joel hung back.

  “Come on, old man. Don’t dillydally. Need help getting out?”

  Joel recognized the teasing the two of them had shared since boyhood, but right now he felt far from joking. “I’m only one year older than you—and don’t patronize me!” He whipped his arm away from Herbert’s touch. “I should never have agreed to this! It was a mistake.”

  “Mama.” He heard Loretta whisper. “What’s wrong with Uncle Joel?” Suddenly the scent of lilacs strongly assaulted his senses as the woman who’d been both tormentor and savior approached his side. Her fingertips were gentle upon his shoulder.

  “You promised to be my escort,” she reminded. “Please don’t back out now.”

  Marielle’s soft voice calmed him where nothing else could. He offered a curt nod—shocked to feel her arm slip through his once he was standing—but didn’t protest.

  At first the cane seemed awkward in his hand; he felt vulnerable walking over uneven ground he didn’t know and couldn’t see. But despite his peevish edginess, she didn’t abandon his side or chastise him for his disagreeable behavior.

  “Tell me,” he said, hearing people hush or talk in undertones as they walked past.

  “Are they all staring?”

  “I assume you mean the ladies?”

  Marielle’s answer and the tightness in her voice took him aback. “What?”

  “You heard me. The ladies.” She made as if to move her arm away, but he tightened his grasp, not willing to let her escape without explanation.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I …” Her breath hitched as if she were now uneasy. “I understand you were quite a ladies’ man.”

  “And that was your first thought when I asked if anyone was staring?”

  “Yes.” Her admission came reluctantly.

  With a disbelieving laugh he scoffed at her. “Trust me. I’m no longer the object of any woman’s admiration. I’m surprised you’d even think it.”

  “Are you really so stupid?”

  The anger in her voice hid the barest trace of tears, and the way her fingers tensed around his sleeve perplexed him.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Swell.” Her voice came steadier. “But since you ask, why do you care if anyone stares? Let’s just try and enjoy the day.”

  He exhaled a frustrated breath. She was right, he supposed. He couldn’t see anyone’s reactions, and he’d never cared about what people thought before. So why had it become so all-fired important now?

  “All right. On one condition.”

  “You’re making a condition to enjoying the day?”

  He couldn’t help but grin at her amusement.

  “You don’t baby me or treat me like an invalid, and I won’t reconsider hunting down that chauffeur of your friend’s to get me out of here.”

  “All right. It’s a deal.” She slipped her arm from his, but he grabbed her hand and looped it back where it had been. He sensed her surprise in the sudden trembling of her hand, which he kept under his.

  “That I’ll allow.”

  “Oh really?” she asked with a soft laugh.

  He smiled.

  Chapter 10

  Joel’s bright smile and persistent hold on her arm gave Clemmie a much-needed boost of confidence. She hadn’t been jealous, not really, but the curious yet clearly interested looks from young women walking in the opposite direction made her recall the old days, when Joel had only to give one of his engaging boyish grins for the ladies to take notice and nearly swoon where they stood.

  For herself, she didn’t read more into his action to keep her close than what she assumed it meant. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit he needed help, and clearly he felt nervous without her holding his arm as they strolled over the unfamiliar ground and through the crowds. For him, she would be whatever he needed, though she wished to be so much more.

  Relieved the atmosphere had eased between them again, she surveyed her surroundings. Though the fair wasn’t much different than the annual one near home, the day seemed brighter, the crowds friendlier, the amusements more interesting, and she felt sure it was because she walked with Joel.

  Tents and booths stood scattered in no real order, as if a giant hand had tossed them to land where they may. A fringe of trees provided a backdrop against a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at it. The nearby woods shielded the morning sun, which peeked in scattered rays between thick foliage. Everywhere, she saw smiles and heard laughter, and she silently thanked God again that she’d been able to convince Joel to come, certain such a fun climate would be good medicine for his wounded soul.

  She described everything she saw, remembering to be his eyes, and warned him of anything his cane might miss in an offhand manner, so he wouldn’t accuse her of coddling him.

  Some passersby did openly stare as he searched the ground with his cane for obstacles that might trip him. But she ignored their curiosity, happy that Joel was finally away from his stifling shed and out among the populace again.

  “Do I smell hot dogs?”

  Clemmie laughed at his sudden boyish enthusiasm and scouted the myriad booths and tents ahead. Far in the distance she spotted a hot dog vendor.

  “Can I have a hot dog, Daddy?” Bethany wanted to know.

  “We just got here, cupcake!”

  “Aw, let the kid have a hot dog if she wants one.”

  “You’re just saying that because you want one,” Herbert accused Joel.

  “What can I say? Blame my stomach.”

  “You mean that bottomless pit below your chest?”

  “Funny man. I seem to remember you couldn’t get enough pies in your day. A habit you never outgrew. Tell me that you don’t plan on visiting the pie-eating booth for a contest.”

  “How’d you know about that, Uncle Joel, if you’ve never been to a fair?” Bethany interrupted the men’s banter. “I don’t see any booths with pies.”

  “I know because your daddy told me there’d be one. Don’t worry. If it’s there, he’ll find it. He has a nose for such things. And a mouth.”

  The adults chuckled and moved toward the booth. Five minutes later the happy vendor pocketed his change, and the group moved away loaded with steaming hot dogs slathered in mustard. A rare treat in such hard times.

  “Mmm.” Joel angled the end of the bun and meat into his mouth. “This isn’t half bad. Almost reminds me of the old picnics at the Refuge
.”

  Herbert laughed. “Nowhere near as good as Darcy’s cooking, though.”

  “Or her baking. She made some of the best pies while we were growing up.”

  “Yes, her pies are contest winners,” Clemmie mused aloud.

  Uneasy silence descended. Joel’s arm tensed beneath her hand.

  “Or so you’ve said,” she hastily amended. “Right?” She shot a pleading look at Thea and Herbert, who appeared just as apprehensive as they looked between Joel and Clemmie. She also glanced his way. Nothing on his face gave a hint that he’d noticed her slip, and she exhaled in relief.

  “My Herbie’s always filling us in on tales of your days together at the Refuge,” Thea answered. “He goes into such vivid detail we feel we’ve actually lived it. He mentioned that famous fence-painting contest for a pie more than once.”

  Both men groaned then chuckled, and again the mood eased. But Clemmie noticed the disapproval in Thea’s eyes as she glanced her way.

  Thea didn’t lie, but Clemmie saw her unease at covering over the comment about Darcy’s pies. Thea shouldn’t have to. Clemmie’s well-intentioned ruse had gone on long enough; Joel deserved the truth. They’d grown close enough that perhaps he wouldn’t toss her out on her ear once he learned she was “clumsy little Clemmie,” as he’d affectionately teased while tweaking her nose or ruffling her hair in her awkward years. She’d grown out of her clumsiness—except when it came to untangling herself from the sticky web of half-truths she’d created.

  How could she tell him? Certainly she couldn’t do it today. She wasn’t about to spoil any memory of his first outing since he’d gone blind. Confessions of the soul must wait. They had to!

  “Ewww,” Bethany squealed, appalled. “What are they doing?” She pointed to a booth in the distance. A young blond leaned over the booth’s rim to plant a kiss on the cheek of a boy at least five years younger. He walked away grinning, his fingers rubbing the red lipstick imprint she’d left on his skin.

  Clemmie grinned as Thea covered Loretta’s eyes with her hand when an older man pecked the woman on the lips.

  “That’s called a kissing booth,” Herbert said. “And those dandies in line are paying the lady to receive her kiss.”

  “Ixnay,” Thea reproved. “The children.”

  “It’s all for a good cause, dear. Most of the proceeds of the fair are going to help the homeless. I help write the news, remember? Perhaps I should contribute.”

  Thea grabbed his arm as he teasingly moved in the direction of the booth. “Don’t you dare take one step farther, Herbert Miller, or you’ll find yourself out in the shed with Joel tonight.”

  “Aw, honey, you know you’re the only gal for me. But maybe Joel would like a turn.” He looked at his friend. “Whatta ya say, ole pal? I’ve never known you to refuse such a worthy cause.”

  Clemmie waited tensely for Joel’s answer.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  “You’ve got to be joshing me—you pass up a smooch from an attractive dame?”

  Thea elbowed Herbert in the ribs, doing what Clemmie wished to do.

  “Yeah. Those days are history.”

  Clemmie didn’t know whether to cheer with relief that he wouldn’t undertake Herbert’s challenge to kiss a stranger or sigh with wretchedness that he now thought himself unfit for a woman to love.

  Oh, how she wished to show him differently!

  “Yuck.” Bethany wrinkled her nose at the kissing booth and looked up at her father.

  “Can we go find the animals?”

  “Sure, cupcake. Whatever you want.”

  The morning passed into afternoon, both little girls bubbling over with excitement at the fun they shared, especially petting a black baby goat a farmer had brought for children to befriend, along with his prize animals competing for the winning blue ribbons. They laughed when the little kid ate a tin can, and Joel remarked that the animal had not only a bottomless stomach but also an ironclad one and that he’d “give Herbert a run for his money on the pies.”

  Of course then Herbert took up Joel’s challenge, much like when they were boys, and entered the contest. They all stood on the sidelines and cheered him on. Bethany giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Joel asked.

  “They tied Daddy’s hands behind him so he’ll have to eat the pie just like our cat drinks milk from her bowl!”

  Joel grinned. “Now that I’d love to see.”

  Thus encouraged, amid gales of laughter, Bethany told Joel every detail of the messy endeavor once the contest bell rang.

  “I can’t see!” Loretta complained from Joel’s other side. “I wanna see, too!”

  Joel handed Clemmie his cane and reached down, lifting the little girl onto his side so she could witness the messy event above the heads of the adults in front of them.

  “Ooo, there’s Daddy!” she squealed, pointing and giggling, bouncing up and down on Joel’s hip. “His face is all blue with berries!”

  Clemmie smiled to watch Joel with the children. They clearly had a fondness for him, and he didn’t appear to dislike them, as she’d once thought.

  Herbert finished his pie in record time. Thea wiped berry juice from his cheeks and chin, chiding the girls, who crowded close to their father, that they should not take a lesson from Daddy, while Herbert proudly pinned his blue ribbon to his lapel for all to see.

  Clemmie felt exuberant with how marvelously the outing had gone, and in her glee she squeezed Joel’s arm. “I can’t tell you when I’ve had such a delightful day,” she said as they walked among the booths again. “Being here with you as my escort has been the highlight of my week, no, make that my year!”

  He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You must lead a very dull life.”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Hardly dull—”

  “Joel Litton, is that you?” a woman’s voice exclaimed in surprise.

  Clemmie felt her balloon of mirth deflate and her heart drop to her stomach as a young woman with light brown hair and sea-green eyes, as beautiful as any movie star in Hannah’s memorabilia photo box, glided their way. She reminded Clemmie of a cross between Jennifer Jones and Lana Turner, with both an exotic innocence and cool sophistication.

  Instantly Clemmie didn’t like her.

  “It’s Paisley Wallace,” the woman said to Joel. “We met at my sister’s party when you first moved to Connecticut. My great-uncle owns the newspaper where Herbert works.”

  “Oh yes. How are you, Paisley?”

  “I’m fine. I—I hope you’re well,” she said, clearly not knowing what to say. Joel motioned with his cane. “As you can see …”

  The girl’s classic features softened in sorrow. “No, I—I didn’t know. We didn’t even know you were back in town. Sheridan will be pleased to learn of it. You just so suddenly disappeared….”

  “Perhaps, under the circumstances, it would be best not to tell her.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Paisley glanced toward Clemmie, noticing her arm linked around Joel’s. Clearly flustered, she made a few trite comments about the fair and the weather before excusing herself, while Clemmie jealously wondered who Sheridan was and what kind of hold she’d had on Joel.

  “Shall we continue?” Joel suggested, his voice losing its earlier spark.

  The rest of the day passed with an uncomfortable wall of reserve between them, which resulted in the adults trying to force the ease they’d earlier enjoyed. Their attempts made the atmosphere more taut. The children continued to frolic along the fairgrounds like excited puppies, oblivious to the changes.

  “So,” Joel said when they were alone, once Herbert and Thea excused themselves to take both girls to enjoy a nearby attraction of a pony ride. “Tell me your last name.”

  Chapter 11

  Wh–what?”

  He noticed how her voice trembled.

  “Your last name. We were interrupted before.”

  “My name?” Her voice rose higher in pitch, but that
could have been because of a noisy crowd of children who ran past. “Is it so important?”

  Why was she evading the subject? “I’d like to know.”

  “I’m not sure why—”

  “Are you going to make me guess?” he asked incredulously.

  “If you like.”

  He shook his head, flabbergasted that she should take his joking seriously. A previous thought occurred to him.

  “If we’d met somewhere before, you’d tell me, right?”

  Another pause. “Of course.” Her voice seemed tight, and he wondered if his question offended her.

  “So is this a tale similar to Rumpelstiltskin, with you making me have to guess your name?”

  She laughed in delight. “Oh, I haven’t heard that tale in ages! It was in a book my mother read to me as a child. My favorite story was ‘Rapunzel.’ She was locked up in a stone tower by a cruel man so that her true love couldn’t reach her. But he always found a way to her side by climbing her thick rope of hair. I used to envy her beautiful, long, golden hair….”

  What’s the matter, Carrottop?

  Stop it, Joel! I hate my hair! Why’d I have to have ugly orange hair anyway? I wish I could be Rapunzel and have her pretty, long, golden hair. Aw, don’t feel so bad. It’s not that orange….

  “Joel …? Are you all right?”

  Marielle’s concern shook him from an old memory of a girl who’d been like a kid sister to him at the farm. “Yeah, fine. But you’re changing the subject.”

  “Can’t we have this discussion later?”

  Again he shook his head in baffled surprise. “It’s just a name, for crying out loud. Not your entire history.”

  “But that comes next, right?”

  He couldn’t understand her strange defensiveness and reluctance to talk about herself.

  “Okay, I’ll admit I am interested in knowing more about you. But for now I just want a name.”

  “And I told you, I’ll tell you that and everything else—later. Right now I just want to enjoy the rest of this day.”