More Than Words Can Say (19 page)

The officer smiled at her. “Thank you for this,” he said quietly.

Still nearly at a loss for words, Brooke said, “You’re welcome . . . May I ask where you’re from?”

To her surprise, the officer shook his head. “Please,” he said, “would it be all right with you if we didn’t talk?”

His answer surprised her. “Why not?” she asked.

Although the captain smiled back at her, his expression was tinged with a bit of sadness.

“Well, you see,” he said, “I’m shipping out soon. And you have absolutely no idea what it means to a man like me to be in the arms of a woman like you, even for so briefly, just before I have to go away. And so, if it’s all right with you, can we just enjoy this moment for what it is? Because for me, well . . . I can’t be sure that one will ever come again.”

Brooke found herself so affected by the young captain’s heartfelt remarks that all she could do was nod. And as he skillfully guided her across the floor, she again found herself thinking about Bill. Closing her eyes, she at last held the young captain a bit closer, and he gladly obeyed her wishes. And when he gently placed his cheek alongside hers, she realized that he was trying to take in her perfume so that he could always remember it, wherever the war might lead him.

Only moments later, it seemed, the band finished playing and the captain released her from his grasp. And then, when at last Brooke opened her eyes, without a word he was gone. Moments later, Greg had his arm hooked through hers, and he was escorting her back to their table . . .

“
S
OON AFTER THAT
,” Chelsea read aloud,
“I asked Greg to bring me home. Being in that officer’s arms has somehow stirred a divide within me that I had yet to realize was present. For a time, it was like I was dancing with Bill. And then when he left me so suddenly and Greg appeared, all that consumed me was a renewed desire to be in Greg’s arms again, and to be guided around the dance floor in that wonderfully awkward way of his. And so we danced once more, before I asked him to take me home. But rather than being able to leave these new and strangely conflicting feelings behind at the dance, it seems that they have followed me home, where they haunt me still, even as I write these words . . .”

With that, Chelsea closed her grandmother’s old journal and set it on the coffee table.

“I’m assuming that’s the end of the fourth entry?” Brandon asked.

Chelsea nodded.

“Did it upset you?” Brandon asked.

“A little, I guess,” Chelsea answered. “I have no way of knowing what the rest of the journal will reveal, but one thing is becoming certain.”

“What is that?” Brandon asked.

Before answering, Chelsea gazed at the fire. “Brooke’s heart was becoming torn,” she said. “And I can also sense that it goes deeper than the mere words that she wrote down. It’s as if I can literally feel what was happening to her. Call it a ‘woman thing,’ if you want, but with the reading of each new entry, I can literally experience her world starting to turn upside down. And I can also sense that it was beginning to scare her.”

Brandon nodded. “I know,” he answered compassionately. “All of which makes me wonder what happens next.”

Suddenly feeling vulnerable, Chelsea edged nearer to him on the sofa.

“I wonder that too,” she answered as a charred log slipped farther down in the fireplace grate. Then she turned and looked into his eyes. “But I do know one thing for sure.”

“And what’s that?” he asked.

At last, Chelsea gave him a little smile.

“I’m really glad that you’re taking this journey with me,” she answered.

Saying nothing more, Brandon put one arm around her shoulders.

Chapter 18

L
ater the following afternoon, Chelsea sat on her porch, thinking. There was so much more that she wanted to know about Brooke’s summer here so long ago, and with each bit of information she gleaned, her curiosity only deepened.

But was she making too much of all this? she wondered. Many people would probably think so. If Brooke did have an affair, of what possible importance could it be now? And why go rummaging around in someone else’s past when it might only dredge up more harm than good?

But Chelsea knew the answers to those questions, and she would not be dissuaded. By asking Chelsea to read her journal, Brooke told her that she wanted her to know what had happened during that final summer. Chelsea had silently vowed to honor her late grandmother’s wishes, and so she would. But there was another, perhaps even more important reason to do this.

Since Chelsea had been old enough to remember, Brooke had always suffered a special sort of sadness all her own. Her car crash had been both awful and life changing. But as Chelsea grew older and wiser, she came to suspect that Brooke’s accident alone was not the full cause of her sorrow. Although it was only through death that Brooke finally defeated her wheelchair, she had never railed against being in it, either. Instead, she had found ways to continue enjoying her two great loves—cooking and painting. No, Chelsea knew. It was not just the accident or its aftermath that had so distressed Brooke. To a far greater extent, the true culprit had been whatever occurred during her final summer there at Lake Evergreen—the same summer that she described in her journal.

In all the time that Chelsea had known her grandmother, Brooke was never so melancholy as when someone happened to mention her abandoned cottage or when asked why she never returned there. It was not a despair so great that it caused her to break out in tears—at least not that Chelsea had ever seen. Rather, Brooke’s reaction was always a sort of great wistfulness, a seemingly huge sense of regret over what might have been. After announcing that she wished to hear of it no more, she would usually wheel herself out onto the porch, where she could paint in solitude. And because of that, the family eventually stopped mentioning Lake Evergreen and the lovely cottage that had been closed up for so long. Indeed, until Chelsea learned that it had been she who had inherited the cottage, the place had almost been wiped from her thoughts.

Chelsea turned in her chair and gazed briefly at the mysterious old journal that lay atop the dining table.
Those pages hold the answers,
she thought.
Brooke wanted someone to know, and she chose me . . .

Chelsea looked at her watch to see that it was nearly four
P.M
. She then casually gazed down the shoreline, looking for Brandon. Although his Jeep and floatplane were in evidence, she didn’t see him. Exhausted from their wanderings, Dolly and Jeeves lay dead asleep atop a stretch of shaded sand. The lake was calm, with but a few passing pleasure craft, and in a few hours the sun would begin its nightly descent. Then Brandon would come over, and he and Chelsea would explore another excerpt from Brooke’s journal.

To her pleasant surprise, Chelsea had become patient regarding the journal. When she had first arrived here, it had been all she could do to keep from devouring it in a single sitting. She still could, of course, should she wish to. But by now she very much enjoyed the idea of waiting for Brandon and sharing the journal with him. She greatly valued his quiet strength and his unbiased viewpoint. Also, he seemed to be her emotional compass, always bringing her back to reality if something in the journal set her emotionally adrift. Moreover, reading only one excerpt at a time allowed her the chance to process what she had learned and to enjoy the anticipation until next time. Although she and Brandon had read only one excerpt together, Chelsea was absolutely convinced that more revelations awaited them.

“A penny for your thoughts!” a voice suddenly said.

Startled, Chelsea swiveled in her chair. Brandon stood on the other side of the screen door, medical bag in hand.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Before beckoning him inside, Chelsea waggled an accusatory index finger at him.

“You know,” she said, “you’ve got to stop doing that! It scares me to death! So, I’ll tell you what. Now that I’m pretty sure you’re not an ax murderer, you can enter my place unannounced—provided that you grant me the same privilege. Do we have a deal?”

Brandon nodded happily. “Sorry,” he answered. “I guess I’m still not used to having a neighbor! Anyway, I’ve come to tell you that if you want to read some more of Brooke’s journal tonight, it’ll have to be a bit later than usual. I have to follow up on that baby girl with the flu that I told you about. Her mother just called and asked me to come back out. But I should be home in time for us to read a bit more, if you want. And after that,” he added slyly, “you can cook a late dinner for us.”

Chelsea nodded. “Okay,” she answered. “And yes, I’m eager to read some more of it, too. But I’d rather wait for you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he answered.

Brandon then looked out at the lake, where his red and white floatplane tugged gently at her anchor. The sky was clear and the winds were light. Lovely flying weather, he realized. As an idea formed in his mind, he smiled again. When he looked back at Chelsea, she realized that something was brewing.

“Okay, out with it,” she ordered. “There’s no escaping it, Dr. Yale. I know that look by now.”

“Come with me,” he said simply. “I’d love to have you along for the ride.”

“But . . . you’re taking the plane, right?” she asked.

The twinkle in Brandon’s eye grew brighter. “Yep,” he answered.

Chelsea pointed at the floatplane. “That very
little
plane?” she asked rhetorically.

“Do you see another one out there?” he asked.

Oh
,
God,
she thought.
Now
what
do
I
do
?

“I don’t know . . . ,” she answered. “I’ve never been up in one of those. Are they dangerous?”

“Well,” he said, “let me think. The weather is perfect, I’ve flown this route several times, and I’m an experienced army pilot. No, you’re right. We’d probably never make it back alive.”

Despite her continued misgivings, Chelsea snorted out a short laugh. She very much wanted to spend time with him. And because this was his first request that they do something together, she felt that she mustn’t decline, lest she appear uninterested. But the other part of her—the sensible, city-girl part—was scared silly to think of herself soaring around in some flimsy little airplane over great stretches of relative wilderness.

“What about the woman who asked you to come out?” she asked, secretly hoping that her question might dissuade him. “Won’t she think it’s odd if I’m tagging along?”

Brandon shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I’ve known her for a long time, and I’m sure that she’ll enjoy meeting you. What’s the matter? Your life insurance is paid up, isn’t it?”

Chelsea scowled. “Very funny,” she answered. “All right, damn it. I’ll go. But if we both die in a crash, I’ll kill you!”

“If we die, I’ll let you,” Brandon replied. “Now go and grab a jacket. It’ll be close to dark by the time we get back, and it can get chilly up there.”

Marvelous,
Chelsea thought as she went to fetch her leather jacket.
Not only do I get to be petrified, but I’m going to have my butt frozen off, too.
When she returned with her coat, she took another moment to look at Brandon’s handsome face.
The hell of it is,
she thought,
he’s worth it . . .

After locking up their cottages, Brandon and Chelsea walked to the end of Brandon’s dock, where his aluminum fishing boat lay tied up. Brandon helped Chelsea into the boat, then he too got in, untied it, and rowed them out to the floatplane. On circling around to the passenger side, he opened the door for Chelsea and helped her in. He then paddled around to the pilot’s side, tied the boat’s rope to the mooring line, unhooked the plane, and clambered up inside with his medical bag.

Although Chelsea found the cockpit to be cramped, there seemed to be no end to the various dials, knobs, and switches laid out before her. Like most people unaccustomed to piloting a plane, her first glimpse of its control systems was hugely daunting. As Brandon secured her seat belt for her, she pointed at the dashboard.

“How in the world does anyone remember what all of these thingamajigs are for?” she asked. “It’d take me a lifetime to understand them all.”

Brandon levered open his side window at the bottom to let in some fresh air. “I know it seems confusing,” he said. “But once you understand that everything has its own purpose, it all falls into place. And to prove the point, once we’re upstairs I’m going to let you fly her.”

Chelsea was aghast. “Like hell!” she answered. “No way, no how!”

Brandon laughed. “Let’s get up there, and then we’ll see. Who knows—you might just change your mind.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, if I were you,” she answered.

Chelsea watched as Brandon fiddled with a few knobs and switches and then turned the ignition key. The motor coughed twice, spat out some dark smoke, and promptly died.

“That was comforting . . . ,” Chelsea said.

“No worries,” Brandon answered. “Like another female I know, she’s sometimes stubborn.”

“Ha-ha,” Chelsea answered.

Undaunted, Brandon repeated the process. This time the motor roared into life, the whirling propeller immediately becoming little more than a circular, telltale blur. Chelsea was surprised at how loud it was inside the cockpit, and the entire plane vibrated as if angrily demanding an immediate release into the sky. As the reality of actually going flying sank in, Chelsea grabbed the door handle so firmly that her knuckles turned white.

After checking a few of the gauges and setting the flaps, Brandon gave the plane a quick shot of power and then turned her into the wind, simultaneously making sure that they were well clear of the moored fishing boat. As he did, the waves noisily sloshed the plane back and forth a bit, adding to Chelsea’s growing distress.

Brandon gave her a comforting look. “Ready?” he asked.

“I guess so . . . ,” she answered.