Belonging

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Had he really done all that because he thought she'd be better off without him?

  "And he wasn't necessarily wrong to do what he did—well, he didn't have to spank you like that, but that's between the two of you. If you decide to stay with him—if he decides to let you, and that's by no means a sure thing—then he won't be the only one who gets stared at all the time. You will, too, just because you're with him. And so will your children, if it gets that far. These are all things you need to think very carefully about. You need to decide what's important to you in this life—whether he's worth all of the potential problems and hardships you're likely to endure in choosing him. But then, really, that's something all women have to face, in one way or the other, deciding who they're going to marry. Everyone's got good and bad in them—you and me included. The thing to remember, if you decide to go that route and try to heal things between you, is that he's not a monster, no matter how badly he acts towards you. He's still Lawson under all of that painful ugliness. And what terrible pain he must have had to endure to live through it at all."

  She gave her friend a lot to think about, keeping her visit short and promising to visit every day.

  Unfortunately for Fleur, word travelled fast in a small town, especially when a soldier they all knew had returned to town that they all wanted desperately to honor, turned his fiancé away the first night he was home and screamed like a banshee whenever anyone dared to knock on his door, threatening everyone—even Father Larabee—with bodily harm if they didn't clear off his land and using truly disgusting terms to describe what he'd do if they ever dared to return.

  Fleur spent the next few days alternately thinking about what Patsy had said to her and wallowing a bit in self-pity, having to deal with the—mostly false—sympathy of others, the majority of whom had run to her to find out what was wrong with her fiancé, only to discover that he wasn't that anymore and that she either didn't have any more information about what his problem was than they did or was flatly refusing to admit whatever it was that she knew.

  Eliza Fitzsimmons was the most annoying about it, being one of the few girls whose man had actually come back from the war intact. No matter that he couldn't get a job at the moment, that he still—even after twelve years of schooling and his time in the Army—had no discernable marketable skills and preferred to go out drinking with his old buddies most nights rather than spend them at home with his wife.

  Eliza had not only a fiancé, but an actual, live husband—not that she seemed to treat him very well or even appreciate what she had in the least, except to lord it over others.

  Fleur now had neither.

  But she wasn't the type to take to her bed forever, and, eventually, she screwed up her courage and ventured out, intent on getting some answers from someone she suspected might have more than she did.

  "So, what did he say in that letter?" she came right to the point as she sat down in Devon's living room.

  He was busy bringing them coffee, pausing mid step at her question.

  "Your parents told you about that?" He handed her a cup.

  She had the grace to blush. "Unknowingly. They mentioned it the night he returned. I came home much earlier than they had anticipated, in a…" Fleur cleared her throat. "In a bit of a state, and I was heading up to bed. They didn't wait until I was out of earshot before they talked about it. I had no idea until then." She pinned him with her gaze. "Do you still have it?"

  "No, I do not." Devon had never been so happy that he'd thrown anything out in his life—not that he was going to lie to her, but he hoped what he was probably going to have to admit to her would be easier to hear from him than to read from in her former fiancé's own hand.

  "What did it say?" she asked again.

  This time, he cleared his throat. "Are you sure you want to know?"

  "Yes, or I wouldn't have asked."

  "It wasn't pleasant."

  "Neither was my encounter with him that evening, which I think you might have guessed already, or I wouldn't be here. Tell me anyway. I need to know."

  Seeing that she wasn't going to be deterred from her goal, Devon sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching her closely. She already looked more haggard now than she had even while he was gone, and he hated seeing it. He had half a mind to soften Lawson's intentionally harsh words but decided against it.

  "Well, he didn't give me any medical information, if what you're after is information about what actually happened to him." He paused, in faint hope that would satisfy her, but she continued to give him that stark, expectant gaze of hers, through slightly tear reddened eyes. Devon sighed and continued, seeing that she wasn't going to give him any other choice but to do so. "In the letter, he asked me to tell you to forget him and go on with your life. He suggested that I tell you that he'd found someone else, if necessary, to dissuade you from pining after him, I suppose." She looked even more devastated than she had when he'd let her in, but he answered her question as fully as he could remember. "He said something to the effect that he no longer wanted to be engaged to you or have you in his life."

  She grew whiter as he spoke, and he wondered if she was going to faint, but she was made of sterner stuff.

  When she spoke, her voice was unbelievably soft but strong. "Thank you for being honest with me."

  He gave her a rueful look that reminded her painfully of how his cousin used to look at her sometimes. "I'm not really sure it was the right thing to do, although I do my best to tell the truth, generally."

  Watching her put the cup and saucer down—untouched—to cover her face with her hand as she wept made Devon wish he was more like Lawson—that he was the kind of man who would reach right over and pull her onto his lap, holding and comforting her when she so obviously needed it.

  Alas, he was the type of man who was horribly uncomfortable with a woman's tears, and he had to content himself with uncomfortable murmurings from a discreet distance of what he hoped were soothing platitudes. "There, there."

  Luckily, Fleur wasn't the dramatic or histrionic type, and she got ahold of herself admirably and fairly quickly. "Please forgive me for sobbing all over you. It's just been a hard couple of days. This really wasn't what I had envisioned happening when he came home."

  "I can imagine."

  She hesitated but went ahead and asked anyway. "Have you seen him, since he's been home?"

  Devon squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes, I have. Briefly."

  "Did he…show himself to you? The scars, I mean?"

  "I saw his face and his arm, inadvertently."

  It had been an even more awkward encounter than this one. He'd summoned Devon to the house, when it was all around town that he had practically chased everyone else away from it, including Fleur.

  He had to admit that he had a bit of trepidation about going, but he felt obliged to, so he had knocked, somewhat hesitantly, on the door.

  It opened, revealing him standing there in a long coat, with a hood that hid most of his face. He was even wearing gloves and boots. Essentially none of him was visible. Devon felt as if he was speaking to the Grim Reaper.

  "I'm sorry to impose on you, cousin, but I need a few things, and as I am a truly horrific sight now—likely to cause old ladies to faint and young ones to get the vapors—would you mind if I imposed on you, occasionally, to get me some groceries? I promise it won't be for very long, and I won't ask you to get me much. There's money and a list on the table, if you will indulge me."

  His use of the phrase "it won't be for very long" was a cause for concern, but what could Devon say or do to help him? He was at a loss, and therefore, he did what he knew he could—he went to the market and got him the things he asked for—which was a meager list, indeed. The most prominent thing was alcohol—he wanted five bottles of cheap whiskey, along with a couple of bottles of Coke, some sundries, a good, thick steak, a big baking potato, some butter, milk, sour cream, sugar and corn flakes.

  He felt as if he was buying the man his last meal.
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  Devon felt so badly about Lawson's little list that he added some things of his own volition and out of his own pocket—a few thick slices of ham that could be easily fried, a couple of extra potatoes, some canned veggies, fresh bread and cheese and, on impulse, a brand of cigars he knew his cousin had liked.

  He wasn't there when he returned—he could simply have been upstairs, but he didn't bother to come down when he got back, so Devon had left the groceries on the counter, along with the change from what he'd asked for.

  When he got back to his car, he found that a couple of cans of the vegetables he'd gotten had ended up the floor of the car, and he headed back in, catching Lawson standing there without his coat on.

  The older man turned as Devon came in, scowling at him fiercely as he tried not to pause at the sight of him when he walked over to the table to put the cans with the other stuff. "Sorry. They got out of the bag, somehow, and I wanted you to have them."

  "I am not a charity case, Devon." He bore down on the smaller man as he had on poor Fleur, the sight of her frightened face haunting him as he did so, as he was sure it would until he died, which hopefully wouldn't be too long now. "Next time, get what's on the list and nothing more."

  To his surprise, Devon didn't back down from his advance in the least, saying, "I get it, Lawson, you're ugly, but then, you've always been ugly, especially compared to me." That little dig didn't elicit the laughter it would have pre-war. "Don't try to make me scared of you because of it, because I'm not. If you want to ruin your life because your body isn't perfect—and by the way, welcome to everyone else's life—and hide out here all alone as if you should be ringing the bells at Notre Dame, even to the point of abandoning your beautiful Fleur to who knows what kind of man might come along and snatch her up in her grief over how you've treated her, then that's fine by me. But don't try to bully me. You used to defend me from bullies when we were younger. I'll never be able to think of you as being one yourself, no matter how hard you try."

  Not backing away, Lawson bellowed, "How do you know how I treated her?"

  Devon scoffed. "Don't be naïve, cousin. Have you forgotten that small towns run on gossip and rumor and innuendo? She was positively living for the day that you returned—even though you hadn't deigned to write her in over a year—but the next day, she was no longer wearing your ring, and she hasn't left her room in days. You completely ignored me at the train station when I came to pick you up that night, and you've worked very hard to make a spectacle of yourself since then, hollering at everyone who comes near this place. It's not very hard to connect the dots and realize that you didn't behave any better towards the woman you're supposed to love than you have anyone else since you got home." Devon was beginning to feel a bit of ire himself towards his cousin and didn't curb how it came out in his tone. "Even if you didn't really do anything to her, you obviously treated her badly by breaking off your engagement with her, first thing, when you got home. That girl was, and is, utterly devoted to you—she has been all her life. She saved herself for you all those years while you were gone. When you stopped writing to her, she was devastated, and after all those months without so much as a word from you, even hearing that you'd been injured was something wonderful to her, because at least she knew that you were alive, unlike so many of her—our—friends. Are you trying to tell me that everything is hunky dory between the two of you?"

  "I didn't say that." Lawson's scowl deepened, and he did look truly frightening.

  "Good. I don't think you've ever lied to me, and I wouldn't want you to start now. Anyway, I'll get what you want, but I'll bring you whatever I think you need, and you'll just have to lump it. Here's my phone number. Call me whenever you need me, I'll come, or I'll run your errands for you. But, for what it's worth, I think you should do it yourself. The sooner everyone gets used to how you look now, the better. The sooner you can work on getting Fleur back."

  "I don't need anyone to get used to me, and I especially don't want her back," he stated stubbornly, emphatically.

  Devon just rolled his eyes. "Sure, you don't. Later, alligator."

  He didn't relay his encounter with Lawson to Fleur, though, but he did see her shudder when he confessed that he'd seen what he looks like now.

  "Surely, I don't have to tell you about beauty being skin deep?"

  She looked rightfully indignant at that. "Of course, you don't! And it's not just that. He doesn't want me anymore."

  Devon chuckled softly. "Can I interest you in some swampland in Florida?"

  Fleur glared at him. "I am not in the habit of forcing myself on someone who doesn't want me around."

  "Really? Since when?" He out and out snorted at her this time. "His little ever-present shadow? I didn't realize how deluded you were, Fleur. I thought you were a smart cookie, but apparently, I gave you more credit than you deserved, if you believe he doesn't want you. That man looks at you like a starving man looks at a banquet. Even when you were a kid and driving him crazy, even when he drove you off the first time—"

  She gasped at that but knew the truth of his words at the same time.

  "He loved you. Always has, always will. He thinks he's not worthy of you anymore, because he's imperfect. But the real question is, do you think that?"

  What was it with everyone asking her such damnably perceptive questions lately that she really didn't want to consider or have any quick, easy responses to?

  So, she answered him with complete honesty, "I don't know."

  "Well, then, you'd better get to figuring that out. The longer you stay away from him, the more he thinks he's right to do what he did, and the harder it'll be to convince him that he was wrong."

  At that, Fleur said her goodbyes, thanking him for his friendship and his honesty, taking the long way home so she could start to think seriously about what—if anything, she acknowledged starkly to herself—she wanted to do about the situation.

  CHAPTER 4

  I n the end, it was Patsy who helped her make the decision—and not by doing or saying anything overt, but by her simple devotion to the man she'd lost.

  She didn't let her friend hide away, as she knew she might have had a mind to. Instead, Patsy encouraged—and sometimes bullied a little—Fleur into going out to lunch occasionally, at first, just with her, and then with some of their mutual friends, all of whom had known each other practically since birth. It was inevitable that questions were asked about what had happened between them—why she was no longer engaged to one of the few eligible men around town, someone they all knew she still adored. The details were sorely lacking—no one had heard anything about his side of the story at all—and Fleur was terribly closemouthed about it herself.

  She learned quickly to deflect their questions, politely but steadfastly, by saying that she and Lawson had realized the first evening he was home that it wasn't going to work out between them, but that she wished him the best, although the words rang hollow in her ears and her heart.

  And that was all she could be persuaded to say—never anything more and certainly never anything that was disparaging of Lawson in any way, despite how he'd behaved that evening.

  One time, after church, she'd joined Patsy by the grave of her fallen man, helping her tend it and plant fresh flowers, seeing the tears in her friend's eyes as she knelt, kissed her fingertips and then pressed the kiss to where his name was carved into the stone, whispering, "I miss you so, my love. You are always in my heart."

  Fleur felt as if she was intruding on lovers, but then Patsy rose and turned around, and she went to hug her. "I'm so sorry about Steven, honey."

  "So am I."

  "He was a wonderful man, just perfect for you."

  She nodded. "He was that. He never let me get away with anything, that one, but he was so loving and kind, always thinking of me before himself."

  They linked arms and headed towards home. "Do you ever…" Fleur began, then stopped, thinking it was a question she shouldn't ask.

  "Do I ever wha
t?"

  She blushed. "I don't want to ask something that might hurt you."

  "Oh, please, ask away. It hurts—although less than it did—but I like remembering him. Keeps him alive, so to speak."

  "Do you ever think of how it might have been if he had come back? What would have happened?"

  To her surprise, Patsy laughed. "Oh, lots and lots. It was one of the reasons I went to Europe—otherwise, I was likely to spend my life daydreaming about what might have been instead of living." She bent down to whisper, "And the truth was that I would probably have been pregnant the moment he saw me, even without him ever touching me! He was a randy one, my Steven!"

  "I remember—you scandalized all of us when you told us about all of the things you let him do to you!"

  Patsy gave her a look. "I don't think you were among the scandalized, if I remember correctly."

  "Well, maybe not quite as much as everyone else. Lawson was… very affectionate."

  "Oh, is that what we're calling it nowadays?" her friend teased, making Fleur blush. "And the answer is that, yes, I still do. I figure I'd have at least one baby by now, if not another on the way, too. He'd've taken over his pa's hardware store, and we'd be living above it."

  "With your mother-in-law? You're a braver woman than I am, considering that dragon!"

  "I'd've lived in a bog, if only I was with him," Patsy confessed softly, and Fleur knew the absolute truth of her statement.

  "Yeah, I felt the same way," she commiserated.