Adversaries and Lovers (21 page)

Kate looked from Ben’s mother to Ben and waited for him to explain why she couldn’t come. When he offered nothing, she said, “Ben, please say something to them.”

Ben held her gaze, and in his dark eyes she saw the rare vulnerability that came at odd times when something touched deep into his soul. During their silent exchange he raised a hand and touched her cheek, and said, “I love you, sweetheart.”

The tears she’d been struggling to hold back rolled down her cheeks, and she began crying, crying for nothing and for everything, for whimsical gargoyles and playful kittens and the love still smoldering in her heart. And for the illusion that died when she realized Ben would not back down, and a block of precious old buildings would be destroyed, and the lives of her elderly friends would be devastated. She pressed her hands to her face to stem the sobs. Ben slipped his arms around her and held her tight. “Honey, please don’t.”

Helen Stassen cleared her throat and said, “We can see this is a bad time. We’ll just plan to get together later.” But before Ben’s parents could leave, Kate pushed out of Ben's arms, turned, and pressed her way through the gathering, then rushed into the safety of the ladies dressing room. Collecting her belongings, she dashed over to where Grandma and Henry stood, hastily wished them well on their honeymoon, and left.

Ten hours later, she was aboard a jetliner bound for New York, where she’d change planes for the next leg of her trip. She’d spent the night at a motel near the airport, knowing that if Ben came by she might weaken, and she desperately needed this time away from him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

While Kate sat at her easel, trying to capture the ambiance of the quaint fishing village of Honfleur, Ben’s face kept coming between her canvas, and the red tile roofs and grey stone walls and cobbled streets. After five months, nothing had changed. Thoughts of Ben dominated her mind. Each day she tried to convince herself that things were getting better, but everything around triggered thoughts of him—a gargoyle on a fountain, a small cruiser on the river, a couple on a motorcycle. And in every quaint shop and picturesque building, she saw Cooper's Landing the way Ben had described his vision for it. Which inevitably turned her mind to the image of a hot tub vat with two lone figures entwined in each other's arms, naked and unashamed and united in love and total commitment as God intended…

“No, no, no!” Francois Broussard's voice shattered her thoughts. “You only see building. Look for light and shadow." He took the brush from her hand. "Put shadow here... and here… and here…” In quick strokes he lay shadows on her canvas where none had been. She looked at the scene in front of her and saw them then. Why hadn’t she seen them before? “Put image down right first time," Professor Broussard scolded. "You no do these, how you say, scribble scratch.”

Kate stared at the images on her canvas. The professor was right. Her brush strokes were scribble scratch. And her painting had no depth, no feeling. No... spirit. Nothing she’d painted from the time she’d arrived in France had come from the heart. Everything seemed contrived, insincere. The fact was, her heart was still at Cooper’s Landing with Ben.

Why had it seemed so easy to paint there? Why had highlights bounced out at her and shadows made themselves evident? Why had it been so easy to breathe life into the scene back then? Here, the world around her seemed dull, lifeless. She picked up her brush and began painting again but was quickly stopped. “Do not cover light ground so quickly. Let it reflect back through paint. Thin paint over white ground give luminous effect,
oui
?” the master said. “Then put impasto to make big clouds in pale sky.”

“Yes, I think I understand now,” Kate said. She dabbed her brush at the white paint on her palette and pushed in some clouds. Flat. Dull. Lifeless clouds. Disenchanted by the sense of futility, she set her brush down and stared at the scene beyond her canvas, seeing everything and nothing. Her heart wasn’t in it. It still carried the memory, deep in its beating chambers, of a time when she’d felt passion. Passion for life. Passion for love. Passion for the beauty around her, for the glorious feeling of longing for Ben, knowing he’d come to her and satisfy that longing by taking her in his arms and holding her and kissing her until she couldn't breathe. Or it might just be simply sitting together in the wordless communion she’d never shared with anyone else. And there were those times when he’d look at her, and one corner of his mouth would lift, and his eyes would light up, and her heart would fill with love. But now, the longing went deeper. She loved him in a way so soul-filling she didn’t want to tie herself to any other man.

For the rest of the day she went through the motions of painting, knowing she’d failed once again, that this painting would be tossed onto the refuse heap with the others. And by the time she returned to her cousin’s flat, she was depressed and weary. The only bright part of her day was finding a letter from Grandma propped up on the dresser in her room for her to see. She sliced open the envelope and read the short attached note:
Henry and I are fine. I’ll write a longer letter later. Ben asked me to send this note to you and I said I would. Henry says Ben's a changed man. Take care, Kate. We love you .Grandma and Henry.

With a shaking hand, Kate opened the sealed envelope and read:

Katie, honey, Sometimes it seems May will never come. I picture you sitting at your easel with your felt hat and your paints and your beautiful eyes taking in everything I would never have seen, and the love I have for you in my heart grows deeper. During the time you’ve been away I’ve come to realize what a beautiful soul you have, and how wrong I was not to listen to you. I’ve tried to make things right. Maybe I’ve succeeded, maybe I haven’t, but I hope you’ll forgive me. I love you, sweetheart. I know I always will... Ben.

Kate pressed the letter to her heart and began to cry. At first her body shook and no sound emerged. Then she broke into great gasps, as if she could draw no air into her lungs. Finally, the tears began to flow, freely and profusely...

She returned to Portland two days later. There had been no point continuing her studies when what she’d originally set out to accomplish had gone so far off track. She’d learned a great deal from Professor Broussard, but she’d failed in the application of it. She couldn't breathe essence into a scene where heart did not exist. And for five long months her heart had been with Ben. It had never been away from him. Only her body.

Grandma and Henry met her at the airport. According to them, Ben had no idea she was back. Grandma was anxious for her to see Ben’s new building, but she refused to tell her why, which aroused Kate's curiosity. Ben said in his letter that he’d tried to make things right and hoped he’d succeeded. But she couldn't imagine what he could have done to make things right. The Hayden building, along with the rest of the block, had been leveled. But she’d keep an open mind. She desperately wanted to forgive and forget.

However, when Henry pulled up to the new building, Kate was unprepared for what she saw. Instead of an
architectural monstrosity barren of charm
, as she’d described Ben’s corporate office to the planning council, there stood a charming, old-style building crafted of stone and wood, with the exception of the front corner, which was fashioned into the new
Corner Cafe
and faced with the same old bricks Ben had salvaged, and looking much as it had when it stood on the corner of Milstein and Giles where the new
Corner Café
stood. She also realized how much of Ben was in this new design. Somewhere inside she was certain she’d find at a gargoyle peeking out from some crook or cranny.

The sound of ducks quacking caught her attention. She looked to where several ducks paddled across a large pond to where two elderly ladies, sitting on a concrete bench, tossed bread into the water. The pond, which took up a sizeable portion of the block, was beautifully landscaped with duckweed and lily pads and cattails to look like a natural setting. And at the far end of the pond was a natural-looking waterfall, edged in large rocks, and another concrete bench, where a man sat hunched over a book, reading.

Anxious to see what Ben had done inside the building, Kate hopped out of the car and went in. What first caught her attention were the boisterous sounds of elderly laughter, and in a room that duplicated the inside of the
Corner Cafe
as it had been for over fifty years. Ben, being Ben, had salvaged, refurbished and set up the old bar, complete with a gargoyle peering down from atop. He’d also installed the embossed metal ceiling tiles, the elaborate moldings, the fine old wainscot, and the original oak flooring. Even the old tables and chairs had been reupholstered with similar covering, and were positioned as they’d been before.

Henry rested his hand on the back of Kate's neck. “Make no mistake,” he said to her, “Ben did it for you. He also pulled strings at City Hall to get tax deferrals for the people in the surrounding area so they wouldn't be burdened with high taxes.”

All at once it came to Kate, the extent to which Ben had gone to make things right, and she didn’t want to waste another minute away from him. Looking anxiously at Henry, she said, “Please take me home. I want to go see Ben, if I can find him.”

Henry smiled. “He’s probably hiding out at Cooper’s Landing. That’s where he spends most of his time. If he’s not there, just wait around and he’ll be back.”

***

Ben paced the confines of his office. He had a business to run, but all he could think of was Kate. How perfectly her body fit his when he held her. How her eyes twinkled when she’d hit him with a clever comeback. How she'd looked in her Sealskin suit, Eve in the Garden of Eden, untouched and tempting him with her presence. And like Adam, he burned to possess her body and soul. And she'd simply walked out of his life.

It had been well over a week since Rose sent the letter, enough time for it to reach France and for Kate to reply, and still nothing. Not a postcard. Not a phone call, at least not to him. She’d sent dozens of letters and postcards to Rose and Gramps over the months she'd been away.

The picturesque countryside inspired her. The quaint villages heightened her creativity. The French professor commended her work. Life was grand. Wonderful. Perfect. She could stay forever…

Maybe she would, he thought. There seemed nothing for her to come back to.

Slapping the papers he should be reviewing on his desk, he did what he usually did when Kate dominated his mind. He headed for Cooper’s Landing. Thirty minutes later he pulled up to the cooperage and was surprised to find a car parked in front, and baffled as to who would be there today. It was Sunday. No workmen were expected. Then he looked at the car more closely. And stared in disbelief. Certainly it couldn’t be. It was too soon. Still another month to go. But there was no mistaking the gray Honda with the small dent in its front fender.

“Katie,” her name slipped from his lips like a soft caress. He jumped out of his truck and rushed into the cooperage, then dashed from room to room. Finding no one there, he ran outside, raced around the building and stood on a rise, scanning the surroundings.

And then he saw her, across the meadow, sitting at her easel, with her felt hat and her paint box and her palette and brushes, nibbling absently on her bottom lip, as if she’d never left. Her hat had slipped back and was suspended by the cord across her neck, and in the ocher light from the low-lying sun, her profile was edged in gold. He started walking toward her.

She turned, and when she saw him, she slowly rose. For a few moments she just watched him closing the distance between them. Then she yanked off her hat, threw down her brushes and rushed across the glade toward him. He ran to meet her and caught her up in his arms and held her as if he were holding onto his very life. Then he realized she was his life, his love, his reason for being. Holding her tight, he whispered against the top of her head, “Do you have any idea how many times I almost went after you?”

Kate nuzzled his neck. “You wouldn’t have known where to find me," she said in a muffled tone, "Grandma promised not to tell.”

Ben tucked a finger under her chin and tipped her head back so he could look into her eyes, and said, “Honey, I could have found you, you know that.”

Kate gazed at him steadily. “Then why didn’t you come? I hated it there. I hated being away from you. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t paint. It was like my eyes were closed to the world around me. I saw nothing but you. Everywhere I looked, I saw you. Sometimes it would be a man taller than the rest, then I'd see it was just some Frenchman. Or I'd see a crowd of tourists and be certain you were the tall, dark-haired man among them, only to be disappointed."

Ben looked at her, puzzled. "Then why didn't you come home?"

Kate looked up at him, wide-eyed, and replied, "I wanted to know that you loved me enough to come after me."

As soon as she'd said the words, Ben understood. He cradled her face in his hands and said, "Honey, if this is a test about putting you before my business, all you would have had to do was pick up the phone and call me. I would've been on the next flight out. I love you, sweetheart. You are first and foremost in my life. Above anything else. Just don't make me have to prove myself for the rest of our lives. You have to have faith in me."

Kate batted her eyes several times and gave him a contrite smile. "I do, now. And that did sound selfish and self-centered of me, not to mention impractical, expecting you to leave your business and everything else and buy a ticket to France, just to prove yourself. I'm sorry, honey, but you know how emotional I am. But I'll try to do better in the future."

Ben brushed her cheek with his finger. "I fell in love with a woman with a big heart, and if being overly emotional comes with the package, that's what I want. But just for the record… What if I had come? What then? Was I supposed to drag you back to Portland and throw you across the bed I made for you, and make a dishonest woman of you to prove my love?"