Day Dreamer

by Jill Marie Landis

  For too many hours to count she had been traveling across the width of the island in the back of a rickety wagon—the only conveyance they could find—crowded with Foster and Edward and all of the luggage and supplies. Her skin was slick with a fine sheen of perspiration. The humidity made every movement an effort. Her arms and legs felt as if they were full of sand.

  Except for the sweat stains on their clothes, Foster and Edward appeared unaffected. They were so anxious to see Dunstain Place again that they somehow managed to ignore their discomfort. The hired driver, a grizzled, toothless man with tufts of white hair growing above his ears, had not spoken a word the entire journey. He barely moved as he sat hunched over the reins, staring at a point in the pockmarked road somewhere between the draft animals’ ears.

  Earlier, before they had passed through open fields and entered the tropical forest, Celine had hoped the trees would provide relief, but the tangle of dense foliage on either side of the road blocked what little breeze there was and gave the sensation that the forest was closing in on them.

  She was staring at a stand of banana trees when the wagon hit a particularly deep rut in the road. Celine grabbed the side of the wagon and hung on. She wondered if anyone would even notice if she was pitched over the rail. Edward dozed. Foster leaned against the side of the wagon and watched the dappled sunlight stream through the treetops.

  In a foul mood since he’d met them at the inn that morning, Cord had chosen to travel on the new horse he had purchased in town—ostensibly so that he could ride ahead and report on the condition of the road. So far he had not returned to report on anything. Celine had not had more than a glimpse of him since they left Baytowne. If the shuttered expression he wore when he rode away was any indication, he was fighting not only childhood memories, but anxiety over what lay ahead as well.

  When he’d returned to the inn for breakfast, he had offered no explanation for his whereabouts last night, nor had she expected any. But whatever he had done had earned him Foster and Edward’s silent condemnation, and they had been tight-lipped and cool toward him all morning.

  When raucous chattering and sharp, chiding squeals echoed in the branches above them, Edward awoke with a start.

  “What is that?” Celine asked, scanning the trees as a shiver slipped down her spine. The screams were enough to have raised the hair on her arms.

  “Green monkeys. They can be quite destructive to the crops,” Edward told her. “The planters kill off as many of the poor things as they can, but it’s a constant battle.”

  The white-faced, exotic animals scolding them from high in the treetops jumped from limb to limb, Celine experiencing them as playful now rather than ominous. But the creatures’ merry antics could not lighten Celine’s mood, especially now that she knew that some of them would be hunted down. Turning her gaze to the road, she noticed Cord riding toward them on the powerful white gelding. The trail was so overgrown that he seemed to have materialized out of the dense forest vegetation.

  There was no denying that he rode as if he had been born on horseback. He wore no coat. A wide-brimmed hat shaded his face from the sun. His white linen shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms. His dark hair shimmered with hints of sunshine. Usually careful to hide his feelings, his eyes were alive with anticipation.

  “We’re almost there.” He drew up alongside and kept pace with the wagon.

  “I hope so,” she sighed, moving with the sway of the uncomfortable vehicle.

  “The heat is bothering you,” he observed.

  She blew at a stray lock of hair hanging over one eye and knew she must look perfectly bedraggled. She tugged at the collar of the traveling suit, which was far too heavy for the tropical weather. “I’m not exactly dressed for it,” she said.

  “We’ll have to find you something cooler to wear.”

  She glanced over at Edward and Foster and lowered her voice. “Be careful—someone might just find out you aren’t as uncaring as you like to appear,” she warned.

  “You certainly seem out of sorts today.”

  She could not help but notice that he held the reins expertly.

  “No more than you,” she said, refusing to be taken in by his devastating good looks.

  “Already regretting your decision to come along?”

  The wagon hit another rut in the road. Celine tightened her grip on the vehicle and stared without comment.

  “You can always go back to Baytowne with the driver,” he suggested.

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t really care.” He was watching the road again.

  “You made that quite obvious last night.”

  He whipped his head around, his attention entirely focused on her. “Don’t try and tell me you expected me to warm your bed last night.”

  She felt her face burn with color. “I was quite warm enough last night, thank you.”

  His gaze left her as he scanned the tropical forest around them. “Just as I thought,” he muttered. “You can see the top of the house from here.”

  She followed the direction of his gaze and finally noticed a long, unbroken roofline through the trees at the top of a rise. “Dunstain Place,” she said softly.

  Cord nodded.

  “Do you want to ride ahead? I know how anxious you are to arrive,” she said.

  He held the horse to a walk. “No.”

  Celine knew he was nervous. She knew, too, that there was nothing she could do or say to ease his anxiety. She turned her attention to the road, waiting for her first glimpse of what was to be her home, at least for the present. They turned down a side lane and suddenly more of the house became visible as flashes of white through the trees. A row of traveler’s palms fanned out to create a natural barrier along the drive to the house. In the undergrowth around the palms, hibiscus and wild tamarind vied for space. They were going ever higher up the hillside, and she had begun to feel the blessed trade winds off the sea.

  It appeared someone had made a halfhearted attempt to hold the encroaching jungle at bay. Piles of cuttings dried to a crisp brown lay next to the road. Amid the tangle of wild growth along the drive, a few vibrant hibiscus blooms had survived the onslaught of forest. The cries of the monkeys mingled with the sound of palm fronds rustling in the breeze.

  Finally the house came into full view. The structure reminded Celine of an old woman in need of a fancy new gown. The paint was faded and peeling in spots. There were large patches of mildew beneath the eaves. The roof of the overhang above the veranda was decayed, ferns sprouting here and there in the debris between the shingles. The long jalousies stood open, some lopsided and sagging, the hinges broken or rusted away.

  Despite her irritation, Celine could not help but wonder about Cord’s reaction. As she watched him closely, her heart went out to him. He uttered not a word as they pulled up before the dilapidated structure and he smoothly dismounted. She expected him to stride immediately toward the house, but he surprised her by waiting to help her down, stalling the inevitable a moment longer.

  Celine looked into his eyes and knew that he was wrestling with deep, desperate emotions. She longed to help him, but there was only one way she knew how.

  As she gathered her skirt and reached for his hand, she opened her senses to his touch. The tropical mountain forest around them dimmed as she experienced the familiar, light-headed sensation that always came when she was open to visions of the past.

  On a wave of images, she saw the plantation house as he had known it last, not as the sad, shabby relic it was now.

  The garden pruned and trimmed. The shutters and window frames bright green. A woman singing. Soft melodious sounds of an angelic voice. Footsteps on floorboards. The scrape of a chair. The smell of burnt sugar and citrus. A lovely, fair-haired woman. “Come, Cordero, sweetheart. Mama loves you, you know that, don’t you ?” She reaches for his hand. Walking through the garden. “I’ve planted something new.” />
  Her hand is soft. Comforting. Her smile is filled with love.

  Love and security. Contentment and peace.

  “Are you all right?” Cord withdrew his hand long enough to place it on her shoulder.

  The sound of his voice snapped the link between his past and her present. Celine fought down a wave of dizziness that came with the abrupt uncoupling of her mind from his memory.

  “I’m fine. It must be the heat.”

  As they turned toward the house, he dropped his hand from her shoulder but continued to walk along at her pace. Celine drew his attention by touching his sleeve, and Cordero glanced down at her.

  “The gardens look as if they were once well tended.”

  “They were my mother’s pride and joy.”

  She tried a smile. “I would be willing to bet that you were her pride and joy.”

  His eyes were haunted by the lingering sadness that comes with loss that lasts a lifetime. He quickly looked straight ahead, toward the house.

  “Do you think she would be happy that you have come home?” she asked.

  He stopped dead still. “Do you have to keep this up?”

  “I was just thinking out loud.”

  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t think at all,” he said.

  “No doubt that’s true, but I can’t oblige you. Looking at this place, thinking about how beautiful it must have been and how lovely it can be again, I know your mother would be pleased.”

  “Unlike you, I have other things to think about.”

  Safe things, she thought. Things that did not involve emotions. They walked up the stone path to the edge of the veranda. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes missed nothing, not a single broken shutter or sagging step.

  Foster and Edward climbed out of the wagon and stood side by side on the path staring up at the two-story house, at its wide verandas and windows that looked out onto the sea.

  “Oh, my,” Edward said. Celine glanced back and thought he might burst into tears.

  “It’s not so bad.” Foster’s tone was glum. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see, once we have time to put things to right again.” He looked around full circle. “A bit of pruning, some paint …”

  “It’s too much. I need to lie down,” Edward mumbled.

  The driver had already begun unloading the wagon, setting trunks and boxes on the ground. Celine saw Jemma O’Hurley’s grand trunk among the others. Not many pieces inside were suited to the intense heat.

  “Are you ready?” Celine said, looking up at Cord. She and the others saw no reason to move until he could face going in.

  Cord knew all three of them were watching him closely. Foster and Edward hadn’t given a damn what he did all morning. Why now, he wondered ruefully, when their solicitous concern only added to his guilt over his curt dismissal of them last night? And then there was Celine, staring up at him with her haunting eyes, trying to see inside his very soul. Crusading, for reasons known only to her, to make him dredge up the past.

  She stood there steadfastly by his side, staring up at what had become a shambles. Her unwarranted, unwanted show of support made him uncomfortable. What was even worse, for some inexplicable, irritating reason, it made him feel better to have her beside him.

  “You don’t all have to treat me like an invalid. It’s my house that’s fallen apart, not me,” he lied. He felt crippled, unable to move. He could not yet face going inside and stepping into the past, especially with Celine and her understanding gaze walking beside him. He hated his cowardice.

  Abruptly, he barked instructions to the driver and then Foster and Edward.

  “Let’s get these things inside before the afternoon rain begins. Unpack the provisions, set up the kitchen and get as organized as you can. I’m going to survey the property and see if there’s anyone about.”

  When he looked at his wife, he found Celine staring at him as if she had never seen him before.

  “Did you think all I was capable of was imbibing cheap rum?”

  “No, but I was convinced that’s what you thought.”

  “I made a promise to Alex’s memory that I would try to make what I can of this place. I intend to keep that promise.” Before Celine could say anything, they were interrupted by the sound of a shrill voice inside the shadowed interior of the house.

  “Oh, just look! We have callers, Gunnie! Put on the tea.” The words were accompanied by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

  Celine glanced over at Cord, waiting for an explanation he could not give. He did not recognize the voice at all, nor had he ever laid eyes on the cheerful matron bustling across the veranda toward them. She was portly, with bright blue eyes in a plump, smiling face. Her features were barely lined, but her hair, which was almost entirely gray except for a hint of faded brown here and there, attested to her age. She wore thick braids coiled around her head. Her once royal blue gown was faded, its crocheted collar and cuffs tattered. She and the house appeared to have aged together.

  “Welcome to Dunstain Place,” she trilled. “It’s so very nice to have callers. Of course, I wasn’t expecting anyone—”

  When she spied their trunks and bags she exclaimed, “Oh, my! You’ve come to visit a while. This is such a welcome surprise.” Without pause she called over her shoulder, “Gunnie! There will be guests for dinner.”

  “I ain’t stayin’,” the driver grumbled as he unloaded the last box and climbed aboard the wagon seat again. Edward walked to the back of the wagon to untie the reins of Cord’s horse. As the driver managed to negotiate the team and wagon back around in the direction from which they had come, Cord stared at the woman on the veranda.

  “Who are you?” he asked bluntly.

  “Why, I’m Ada Dunstain. Who are you, sir?”

  “Cordero Moreau.”

  “Cordero!” The woman’s eyes instantly flooded with tears.

  With surprising agility, Ada Dunstain nearly flew down the steps and ran over to Cord. She threw her arms around him, pinning his to his sides. He was helpless to do anything more than stare at the top of her head as Ada pressed her cheek against his chest and held on tight.

  “Cordero, I’m your aunt Ada. Do your recall your mother ever speaking of me?” She pulled back, his greater height forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him.

  He was so stunned by this cherub-cheeked woman’s clinging to him with so much unabashed adoration that he was rendered speechless. When she finally released him, Foster and Edward caught her eye.

  “Why, if it isn’t Arnold and Lang,” she said, using their surnames. “The last time I saw you was the day Father sent you two off to live with Alyce here on St. Stephen.”

  Edward and Foster smiled in acknowledgment of her recognition and told her how pleased they were to see her.

  “How long have you been here, Aunt Ada?” Cord asked.

  “Why, I don’t know. Nearly eleven years, I suppose.”

  “Eleven years?” Cord glanced over at Celine. His wife was watching Ada Dunstain with as much curiosity as he.

  “And who is this exquisite young woman?” Ada asked turning toward Celine.

  “This is Celine … my wife.” Cord glanced over at Celine as he introduced her. She seemed almost relieved by Ada’s appearance. “You said you’ve been here eleven years, Aunt Ada …,” he remarked.

  “I see there is a lot to explain. If you’ll bring your things in before it starts to rain, I’ll have Gunnie set out a cold buffet and we can talk.”

  Ada whirled around and started up the stairs, the hem of her full skirt carefully gathered in her hands, the lacy hem of her petticoat showing beneath. She nearly tripped on the top wooden step, which was swollen and crumbling with dry rot, but she caught herself in time.

  With a laugh, Ada paused on the veranda and called out over her shoulder, “This old place needs a bit more care than I’ve been able to give it.” She looked at Celine again and then smiled. “Cordero’s wife. Alyce will b
e so pleased.” She instantly sobered, as if she had said too much, and hurried inside before anyone could question her.

  “Do you think she meant your mother?” Celine asked Cord.

  “My mother is dead.”

  Standing here in this place where his mother had loved and laughed and filled his young life with so much joy, Cord found it excruciating to say the words aloud.

  “I’m sure she said Alyce will be so pleased …,” Celine said softly.

  “I’m not so certain that woman isn’t more than a bit addlepated.”

  “Always was,” Foster told them as he started toward the steps with a piece of luggage.

  “Good to have a nice surprise, for a change,” Edward added as he followed Foster into the house.

  Cord glanced down at Celine. There was no putting it off any longer. Sooner or later he would have to go into the house. Aunt Ada was waiting. Celine needed to get out of the heat. He held out his arm for her before he realized what he had done. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she let him lead her up the dilapidated steps.

  There was no going back now. He had come home.

  Situated on the crest of the hill, the house was constructed so that every room faced the turquoise sea. Inside, the wall coverings were faded and water-stained where rain, driven by tropical storms, had seeped in around the window frames. The furnishings were in need of upholstery, the drapes fit for the rag bag. Edward was so upset that Foster had sent him to his room. But Celine easily imagined the place as it could be with a little hard work.

  Ada had insisted they go directly to the dining room, where the housekeeper had gathered together a ratoon supper. Celine thought the array of leftovers—named for the ratoon sugarcane cuttings left in the fields to sprout again—was both interesting and exotic. The sideboard was piled with an assortment of cold vegetable dishes and a platter of sliced ham. There were bowls of golden-orange sliced papaws, sweet pineapples, melons and juicy mangoes. The silver serving pieces were tarnished and salt-pitted, the surface of the sideboard scarred with signs of age and long use without care.