Pieces of Dreams (13 page)

“By a man who might trade all the oceans of the world for the right woman.”

Rage flashed in Caleb's bright blue eyes, so like his own. “She'd be a fool to take you. Unless you proved, out there on that island, that she's really no better than you are.”

Conrad hit him then, a hard right with every ounce of his power and anger behind it. And he kept on hitting Caleb until they pulled him off. But it could not erase what had been said, or ease the torment he felt for bringing this final insult down on Melly. Or his fear that she might believe it.

Chapter Ten

Within twenty-four hours, Conrad had made his decision to leave and packed his trunk to go. It was time: he had out-stayed his welcome. Remaining could only make matters worse.

Anyway, his ship would be out of dry dock, outfitted and ready in Baltimore, waiting only for his return. The steamer
J. B. Cates
was scheduled to put in at the landing again tomorrow at sundown on its run up to Ohio, with connections from there to the Maryland shore. When it left again, he would be on it.

He would miss the wedding that would take place the next day, on Saturday. That was definitely by design. He didn't think he could bear to serve as his brother's best man, even if Caleb still wanted him. Which was doubtful.

The event was going to take place as planned. At least there had been no announcement to the contrary.

Caleb had apparently made his peace with Melly. He had paid a formal call on her the evening after the fight and stayed some time. What they had said to each other was anybody's guess: what Conrad did know was that Caleb had been whistling on his return. Conrad would have liked to damn him to hell for it, had he not understood the elation far too well.

All that was left, then, was saying good-bye to Melly.

He put it off as long as possible. It was forced upon him, finally, on the afternoon of his departure.

Melly, being the lady she was, made it easier for him. She saw him coming up the walk, all rigged out in his gray broadcloth with his hair freshly barbered and his hat in his hand. Rising from her chair where she sat putting tiny stitches into the hem of a handkerchief, she stood waiting with grave expectation in her lovely face.

“So you're going,” she said in clear, musical tones. “Caleb said you would.”

Conrad didn't care for the sound of that, but could hardly argue. As he came to a halt on the step below her, he said simply, “It seems best.”

“Yes.” She swallowed with a visible movement in the graceful line of her throat.

“Melly—”

“No, please, I understand. There's nothing to keep you here.”

“There's everything—!” he began in fierce contradiction. Then he stopped. Taking a deep breath, he began again without quite meeting the shadowed darkness of her eyes.

“Caleb had a perfect right to be upset over what happened the other day, and I hope you won't blame him. I served him a shabby trick and wound up hurting everybody. Whatever he said was ... in the heat of the moment and because, well, because he had so much to lose. He didn't mean any of it.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

He cleared his throat of a troublesome obstruction. “About the way I shanghaied you...”

“You forget that I also know you.” Her smile was only a flicker across her lips. “I'll admit that I thought for an instant you might have meant to be caught by the storm. But then I remembered what you said on the island and I knew you would never set out to hurt me.”

His pent breath left him. He pushed his hand into his pants pocket to hide its shaking. Against the ache in his throat, and his heart, he said, “I did it anyway, in spite of everything. For that I'm desperately sorry.”

“Don't be. You didn't—that is…” She stopped, began again. “I think we hurt each other, whether we meant it or not. And Caleb most of all.”

She met his eyes then, and her own were clouded with regret. Seeing it, he gave a slow nod.

“Caleb will make you a good husband; it would be wrong to think anything else. He's decent and honorable and will do his best to make you happy. More than that, he's my brother. Though you will never be far from my thoughts or my heart, I can't take my own happiness at his expense.”

“I understand,” she said, the words barely above a whisper. “At least—I know that Caleb is not the only decent and honorable man in this.”

His resolve and his voice almost failed him. The words strained, he said, “Then maybe you can understand why this is good-bye. I can't stay and watch—”

“No.” She looked down at her hands still clutching her piece of sewing, then up again to meet his gaze. “For me it's easier. I will see Caleb and it will be nearly like seeing you. I'll always know what you look like wherever you are, no matter how much you change. And sometimes when I shut my eyes at night I can imagine—”

“Don't!” he said, an exclamation of stark agony.

She stopped, closed her lips, pressed them tightly together. When she looked up again, her lashes were rimmed with wetness. “That was unfair, wasn't it? Forget it please.”

How could he, ever? “Melly, I—”

“No!” she said again. “I'm bound, too, don't you see? I made my promise, and Caleb has built so much on it. I can't take that away from him any more than you can. In any case, you're better off alone. You always were.”

Once he would have agreed. No more. Here, right this moment, was the time to tell her so. Now was the time to say how much he adored her, how much he needed her beside him. It was the perfect moment to beg her to come with him.

He couldn't, he had no right. He would never know what answer she might have given him—a more fitting punishment than anything Caleb had managed.

“I expect you're right.” The breath he drew hurt deep in his chest, and had nothing to do with the drubbing he had taken from his brother.

She made no reply, but the unshed tears glistened in her eyes. He looked into them long seconds, memorizing their color, their shape, their forthright honesty. Remembering the way they had once darkened with desire for him.

Then he took her hand and removed her sewing before raising her fingers to his lips. He closed his eyes as he felt their coolness, the faint tremors that shook them. Then he released her, turned, and walked away.

He was halfway down the street before he realized he still held the handkerchief she had been stitching. He spread its folds, staring down at it as he walked. She had just set the last stitches of an embroidered motif, Caleb's initials—or his own—done in gold thread and enclosed in a blood-red heart.

A wedding gift for the groom, no doubt. He should return with it, he told himself, hand it back to her.

Conrad snapped the needle off from the thread, leaving enough length for a finishing knot. He tossed the small, sharp length of steel into a general store’s trash barrel as he passed it. Folding the fine linen into a careful square, he put it in his pocket, over his heart. And he kept on walking.

<< >>

“Aunt Dora? Do you ever wish you had married Mr. Prine, after all?”

Melly spoke into a lull in the animated gathering of bridesmaids that took place on the front porch later that evening. She had been subdued yet jumpy, starting at the blast of the whistle from the
J. B. Cates
as it came into the landing, paying more attention to the sun sliding down the slope of the sky toward the featherbed of lavender and gold on the horizon than to the final details of her wedding being discussed around her. Her gaze was pensive now, far away, as she waited for her aunt's answer.

“You asking if I've got regrets, child?” Aunt Dora sent her a shrewd glance as she looked up from the peas she had brought out onto the porch to shell for supper.

Melly gave a slow nod. “Something like that.”

“Now and again. Wouldn't be human if I didn't.”

“But you never thought of doing anything about it?”

The older woman grimaced. “Not a lot. There was so much against it. And then you came to me.”

Melly looked around at her friends, who were watching with obvious concern in their faces, when they were not exchanging uneasy glances. “Yes, and now I'm going,” she said. “You'll be alone.”

Down at the river, the three-note steam whistle of the
J. B. Cates
assaulted the air in token of its departure within the half-hour. Melly's aunt waited for the sound to die away before she said, “Sounds as if you’re trying to arrange my life for me, honey.”

“Not really, but I was just thinking—”

“Don't,” the older woman recommended. “Don't trouble your brain about me. You got enough to worry about just taking care of your own problems.”

“Too true,” Melly said with a smile.

Her aunt looked past her toward a buggy coming down the street, drawing up at the hitching post outside the front yard gate. “And here comes the main one now.”

It was Caleb. He was due for supper, the last time she would see him before the wedding. Though she had bathed and changed her dress earlier, she had not expected him to arrive for at least an hour.

Caleb declined Aunt Dora’s offer of cherry cordial for refreshment, spoke politely to the other young women, then took a chair next to Melly. His unease was plain, however, and he seemed to have something on his mind.

The older woman heaved herself to her feet. “Time I was getting these peas on to cook if we're to have them for supper. Sarah, you and Biddy can set the table if you don't mind. Esther and Lydia can peel a few potatoes for a nice salad. Come along, now, girls. It's getting late.”

As the sound of the women's voices died away in the direction of the kitchen, Melly sat looking at her hands and searching her mind for some comfortable subject for conversation. So many things were unacceptable: the storm and the cooler weather it had brought; the steamer down at the landing; the lack of a best man for the wedding ceremony. Conrad.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Caleb said abruptly, “I guess you know Conrad is leaving this evening.”

“Yes.” She was hardly in need of a reminder with the steamboat whistle signaling every few minutes.

“You said your good-byes?”

She nodded, looking away from him.

“And you're content to see him go?”

How was she to answer that? Perhaps a half-truth would do. “Since he could not stay.”

“He might have, if you had asked.”

The words, so quietly spoken, had such a sound of Conrad that she turned her head to stare. But no, it was not he. How unfair it was that even their voices should be so near the same. Could she stand it? Could she?

His smile was wry as he met her gaze, as if he understood what she had been looking for all her life, what she was thinking. “You do love him, don't you? I didn't want to see it or believe it, but it's so plain since the picnic I would have to be blind. I can't help wondering if it was him all along.”

“Don't,” she said on a quickly drawn breath. “
Please
. Just—don't.”

“Why? Because I might say something I'll regret? Or you might?”

“This isn't necessary, Caleb. I'm going to marry you tomorrow. I promise I will try to make you a good wife.”

“I expect so, but I don't know if I want that if it's going to be so hard for you. Anyway, I've fooled myself, been a fool, long enough. Conrad was right. I've been too sure the things I could give you were everything you could possibly need.”

“It would be,” she said miserably, “if I were different.”

“But you're not.” He gave a small shrug. “I don't know if I would love you quite so much if you were.”

“Oh, Caleb.” She shook her head, at a loss as she wondered what it was he wanted her to say.

“Never mind,” he said abruptly. “If you hurry, you can still make the steamboat.”

She returned her gaze to his face. “What? How—what do you mean? I can't do that!”

“Can't you, for Conrad? He's waiting for you.”

“What did he tell you? I can’t—I don’t understand.”

“He hasn't said a thing, we haven't spoken about it at all. No matter. I know how he feels—he's my twin, remember. He's dying inside. He needs you.”