Interrupted (12 page)

“No, it was talent.” Sam looked down and met my eyes. “Have you ever considered publishing a book of poems?”

“What?” I shook my head and pushed the notebook away from me. “No way. Not in a million years. No.”

Sam laughed softly. “You might be surprised. You’re better
than you think, Alcyone Everly. And one day you’ll know it.” His blue eyes softened as he smiled at me.

“Thanks,” I whispered, clutching the notebook to my chest. My head felt dizzy. Only the sound of the crashing waves could be heard above the silence.

“So, did you want a cup of tea?” Sam asked, standing. He helped me up and shook the apple blossoms out of his hair.

“No, thanks. I need to be getting back.” I shifted on the balls of my feet.

Sam grinned and picked a pink flower out of my hair. “You look like a fairy princess.”

I brushed the dirt off my white dress, trying to ignore his proximity. “I should have known better than to sit on the ground.”

He shrugged. “Just scrub it with soap and water. No harm done.”

“Thanks.” I picked up my notebook, feeling awkward. “Okay, well … I guess I’ll see you later.”

He nodded. “Tell Charlie and Russell I said hello.”

I tucked the notebook under my arm and turned to go, running down the hill and to the oceanfront.
Well that was —

“Allie!”

I turned to see Sam rushing after me. He slowed down and proclaimed, “I forgot to mention that Aunt Rachel wished to cordially invite you to lunch tomorrow afternoon. In fact, you saved me a trip to your house later today. I’ll tell her you’ll be there at noon.” He winked before turning and walking back up the hill.

I sighed to the heavens and trudged home. Beatrice was sitting in the library, perusing an old book. She looked up expectantly as I opened the door.

“Oh, there you are, Allie.” She tilted her head. “Where have you been?”

I shut the door behind me. “At Rachel Piper’s house. I was talking with Sam Carroll, who invited me to lunch tomorrow.”

“Did he really?” Beatrice shook her head slightly and laughed softly. “Well that was very nice of him. I have to admit, he is a strange young ruffian.”

I blew a piece of hair out of my eyes. “You have no idea.” I peered down at my notebooks, noticing large fingerprints were visible on the faded cover. I tucked away a smile in the corner of my mouth.
Is Sam right? Do I have talent?

“Penny for your thoughts,” Beatrice said, rising to arrange the tea tray.

I placed the notebook on the desk, feeling light as air. “I was just thinking that high tea is
positively medieval
.”

Someone knocked on my bedroom door. I looked up from the desk. “Come in.”

Beatrice poked her head in the doorway. “I was just wondering what you were going to wear to lunch at Rachel Piper’s house.” She paused and twisted her hands. “Rachel is a very elegant woman.”

“Oh, that.” I rolled my eyes. “That’s not for a few hours yet.” I bent my head back over my journal, scribbling away.

“What are you talking about, Allie?” Beatrice pointed at the clock. “It’s already eleven thirty.”

My head flew up. I shut the journal with a bang, hopping up from the desk. I glanced at the clock—sure enough, Beatrice was right. “I didn’t realize it was getting so late.”

“A girl in disarray’s thoughts are far away.” Beatrice leaned in the doorway, then hesitated. “You’re always writing in that journal of yours.” Her eyes searched over the journal from a distance. “What do you write about?” she asked, her voice soft.

My first reaction was to stare at her. I’d considered this a taboo subject. She never asked me about my writing and I never offered any insight. That’s the way things were between us. I spread my arms over the journal, blocking it from her view. “Nothing.”

Beatrice’s face crumpled, only for a moment. Then she smoothed it out quickly until I could see no more of the crinkles. The smile she gave me was distant and polite. “Oh. I see.”

My cheeks grew hot. “What I mean is … it’s private.” The words seemed jumbled in my mouth, unable to come out. “I’d let you … I mean, I just think … I don’t want anyone to …”

“Oh,” Beatrice said again. But this time the word seemed a little brighter. “Perhaps one day you’ll let me look at it.”

I grabbed the notebook and shoved it into my dresser, my back turned to Beatrice. My hands were shaking as I pushed the drawer shut with a slam. “It’s about my mother.”

Beatrice was silent. It took me several seconds before I had enough bravery to face her again, and when I did she was staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face.

“You write about her?” she finally asked.

My face stayed frozen in the same half-fearful, half-defiant face.

But Beatrice just nodded. “That’s good.” She licked her lips. “She must have been quite the woman.”

I nodded. “She was. She …” I took a deep breath. “She was
the nicest person I’ve ever known. She cared about people. Kind of like …” I glanced at Beatrice, who was listening intently.
Kind of like you
.

The thought shocked and repulsed me. How could I have ever …

I looked down.
No, nothing like Beatrice. She couldn’t be like Beatrice
.

And yet I could almost see it. The quiet pride. The love for all things beautiful and interesting. The way they both seemed to understand when to push things with me and when to let them go.

The only difference was the religion. Beatrice would never be like my mother in that respect.

The room fell silent. The conversation was over.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Well, I came to see what you were wearing, and I haven’t seen it yet.”

I frowned. “I’ll probably just put on the first dress in my closet.” I’d already made sure it was the deep-blue dress with the lace collar.

Beatrice gripped the doorway and gulped. “Well, then you do that.” Her smile was strained. “Just try to be appropriate.” She looked around the room one last time, her gaze resting on the dresser. Then she spun on her heel and shut the door behind her.

I stared at the space she’d occupied. Had Beatrice really just stood there? Had I really told her what I spent never-ending hours writing about in my journal?

I groaned and fell back onto the bed. I didn’t like to talk about Mama — least of all to Beatrice.

Maybe Beatrice … maybe she’d understand Mama
. She sometimes
had Mama’s light in her eyes when she was happy or thankful. Or when she looked at Irene. And … me?

I gulped down the bile in my throat. No, Beatrice would never be to me what she was to Irene. She’d never understand Mama or be anything like her. She’d never know about the little cuts on Mama’s hands from the rose thorns she trimmed. Or about the little tremors she’d get in her voice when she read aloud an exciting battle scene or a touching poem.

My fingers curled up and gripped the blanket on the bed. I stroked the soft pillow.

Something ricocheted against my window, making a loud
ping
. I jumped up and grabbed my pillow in defense. I slowly walked toward the window and looked down.

Sam was smiling up at me. He waved and motioned for me to stick my head out.

I groaned and opened the window. “Don’t people generally do this at night?” I called down.

Sam just grinned. “I got hungry, and Aunt Rachel said I could come and get you. So come on!”

I tried to keep my face angry, but failed. “Let me put on something nice and I’ll be right down.”

Sam straightened his collar. “I’ll wait all day for that.”

With a laugh, I shut the window and grabbed the deep-blue dress out of the wardrobe.

“So …” Miss Rachel’s eyes roamed over me like twin searchlights as she raised a fork to her mouth. She raised an eyebrow. “I understand you’ve known Samuel for quite some time.”

I squirmed in my antique chair. “Yes, I have. Since we were children.”

“Strange, Samuel never mentioned you before this summer.” Miss Rachel narrowed her eyes at me.

My palms began to sweat. I pushed around the peas on my plate. “Well, I …”

“We haven’t seen each other in years, Aunt Rachel,” Sam jumped in. “It was quite a pleasant surprise to meet Allie here this summer, after having not seen her in over three years.”

I gave a thin smile and looked down at my plate. The china pattern was centuries old—an English vine curling around a yellow rose. I stuck a piece of meat with my fork and forced it down my throat.

“Well, Alcyone,” Miss Rachel said, stretching out every syllable of my name, “what do you think of my home?”

I looked around and gulped. It was certainly the most elegant house I had ever been in. A large crystal chandelier hung over my head, dripping with antique glass and gold. Priceless paintings were pinned to the walls, and rich red wallpaper lined the room. We reclined on mahogany wingbacked chairs, and were served on sterling silver trays.

“It’s a beautiful home,” I said. “Very elegant.”

“Thank you.” Miss Rachel beamed, looking like a gratified bird with her feathers fluffed out. “I spent years getting it this way.” She smoothed down her white hair and poured more tea into my cup.

I caught Sam watching me from the other side of the table. I widened my eyes at him and looked down at my piping-hot tea.

“Would you like to retire to the parlor?” Miss Rachel asked.
“I have a nice piano you are welcome to try out. Samuel tells me you play nicely.”

I blushed. “Oh, no, I …”

“Come now! No protests!” Miss Rachel pushed herself out of her seat with a groan, pressing a hand on her back. Sam moved to help her, but she waved him off. “You entertain our guest for a few moments while I clear the table. I’ll be right there.”

Sam smiled at me, then gave a little bow. “Shall we retire to the parlor?”

I followed him into a smaller, less formal room. There were several chairs gathered in a circle, and a large piano standing alone in the corner. I ran my fingers over the instrument and felt a wave of bliss pass over me. “I feel like I’m in a Victorian fairy tale.”

“It can give you that effect.” Sam pulled at his necktie and smirked. “She’s got me dressed up like an English gentlemen at all times.”

I looked back down at the piano. It was white, and nearly twice the size of Mama’s. “It’s a lovely piano.”

When I glanced back up, Sam was watching me. “You should play it. I would enjoy hearing you, unpressured and free.” He looked down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have put you in the position I did at the Wilkinson’s party.”

My stomach hurt at the sight of his sorry face. I shrugged and tried to smile nonchalantly. “I’ll play for you, if you want. Besides” — I motioned at the large stack of sheet music sitting on top of the piano —”I haven’t had this kind of selection in years.”

I fingered through the selections and pulled out a faded paper. “Do you know Debussy’s ‘Reverie’?”

Sam shook his head and leaned on the piano. “No, but I’d love to hear your rendition.”

I pulled back the bench and settled down. After smoothing the sheet music out in front of me, I began to play.

The song had only happy memories — memories of warm summer days spent practicing the piano and glancing out the little window where Mama was hanging up fluttering clothes in the sun.

My fingers stumbled once, as I fought to recognize the right notes. My heart felt like soaring, though, as the music rose and fell. I trailed off the last keys and smiled, looking up at Sam.

He stood and clapped, grinning like a fool. “Marvelous!”

Miss Rachel stood also, from the loveseat in the back, and nodded. “That was lovely, Alcyone. Samuel’s praise was more than justified.”

I blushed and grabbed the sheet music, placing it back on top of the stack. “It was one of the last songs Mama taught me,” I explained, tracing a finger over the printed notes.

“Does Beatrice have a piano?” Sam asked, settling on the sofa.

I sat across from him and shook my head. “No, though she talked about buying one a few years ago. She didn’t know I played until I performed at the Wilkinsons.’ ”

An awkward silence fell over us all as Miss Rachel examined me closely again. “That’s a pretty dress,” she finally said.

I glanced down at the dark-blue fabric. “Thank you.”

Sam leaned forward, his hair falling on his forehead. “I
never asked you how yours and Charlie’s blueberry excursion was, Allie.”

“It was fine, thank you.” I smiled and squirmed under Miss Rachel’s stare.
Honestly, couldn’t she look somewhere else once in a while?
“Have you heard any new developments from the war front?” I asked.

Miss Rachel’s gaze turned cold. She placed her hands in her lap primly. “The war in Europe is not worth discussing in my household.”

I lowered by brow. “It would seem to me worth discussing in every American household.”

Miss Rachel’s glare pierced through me. “I do not support innocent boys being slaughtered on the battlefield for a worthless cause.”

Sam bristled, inching forward in his chair. “That cause is the defense of our freedom. If those brave men didn’t step up and defy those who would seek to hold them back, we might not enjoy the freedoms we have today. Those men fight for
America
.”

“Those
boys
fight for themselves.” Miss Rachel’s eyes burned with a cold fire, stopping my breath short.

Sam’s voice rose with equal heat. “Those men fight for their country and you know it!”

“I agree,” I said softly.

The silence that now hung over us seemed ten times more awkward than before. I glanced at Sam to see him staring at his hands. He looked up and tried to smile at me.

“Allie, I —”

“I should be going,” I said, interrupting him. I stood and curtseyed to Miss Rachel, feeling foolish and clumsy. “Beatrice will
be expecting me at home. Thank you for the lovely lunch. It was …” I trailed off.
It was what? “Lovely”?
I felt like kicking myself.

Sam stood as well. “I’ll walk you home if you want.”

“No, I can get there myself.” I infused my voice with mirth. “It’s just on the other side of the beach.”

Miss Rachel held out a hand to me regally. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alcyone Everly. I do hope I will have the joy again in the near future.”