The Fragrance of Her Name (40 page)

He broke the seal of their lips and kissed her forehead as he whispered, “Goodnight, Lauryn. And if that doesn’t get me into your dreams…I doubt that I can make it at all.” With a wink, he left her alone, but much warmer than she’d been all evening.



The battle raged violent and mercilessly in the fields and streets of Franklin. Men were lying in the blood-soaked grasses of Tennessee…men were dying in the soft grasses of Tennessee. Men in uniform, gray uniforms with brass buttons. Buttons tarnished with blood and mud. Brass buttons with the letters “CSA” embossed on them. Young men. Men in gray…no. Men in a worn hue of green. Men in brown and green uniforms. Uniforms splattered with mud. Men lying in trenches, covered in mud and blood. No! Men lying in grass. Young men, very young men, lying in the Tennessee grass that was now stained blood red. But…the men were in trenches! There were no brass buttons on these men. No buttons with the initials “CSA” on them. These men were in trenches in brown and green uniforms. But they were in…

“
She’s having a nightmare,” came Brant’s voice on the wind. “Wake her up, Laura.”

The visions of dying men, whether in gray uniforms in the grass or brown ones in the trenches, began to fade. In their place were visions of home. Of beautiful, comforting, safe Connemara. Connemara, fragrant with Spring’s wisteria and Nana’s cinnamon rolls. Connemara with the Captain sitting out by Henry watching Patrick play, the small boy completely unaware of his audience. Connemara with its lace and velvets, its pansies and ghost.

Someone was stroking her hair. A soft hand, a woman’s hand. Lauryn could feel a soothing touch smoothing her brow and Connemara was there, too. For the fragrance of Connemara’s beautiful wisteria filled Lauryn’s senses and it comforted her. It vanquished the horrible dreams of war. And Lauryn opened her eyes. When she opened them and beheld the beauty of Connemara hovering above her, she was no longer frightened. She smiled. For the beauty of home, of Connemara was there before her, in the image, no…in the presence of Lauralynn.

“
Brant,” Lauryn whispered as she gazed at the beautiful spirit sitting on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair lovingly. “She’s here.”

“
I know,” Brant said from where he stood at the foot of her bed. “She couldn’t wait to meet you. I told her you were tired. But you know how ill-tempered the Irish are. Especially the women.” Lauralynn turned and playfully scowled at Brant before returning her attention to Lauryn.

“
You’re so beautiful, she says,” Brant translated as Lauryn watched Laura’s eyes fill with moisture. Her lips moved in silence again and Brant added, “She says you put her in mind of Virginia.”

Lauryn began to weep as Laura’s own tears fell from her haunting eyes. Her great aunt was so much more beautiful than she’d ever imagined. People never smiled in photographs in the past. It wasn’t considered proper. Therefore, Lauryn had never seen Lauralynn’s smile, and it was breathtaking. There was something else the old family photographs had never revealed—her hair! It was almost perfectly the color of fresh, summer-morning cream and hung in long, wavy ringlets, giving the ghostly vision the appearance of a fairy sprite. It was Lauryn’s own hair, only cream-colored instead of sifted cinnamon and nutmeg. All these years, Lauryn had wondered from whence she’d inherited her wild tresses. And here was the answer sitting next to her!

Her eyes were brown, as brown as chocolate. They sparkled with a sadness that made Lauryn’s tears flow even more profusely. She was there! Laura! She could feel her, smell her, see her as surely as she could the Captain.

“
He loves you so much,” Lauryn blurted out suddenly. “He’s never given up. And I…I promise…”

Lauralynn O’Halleran Masterson put one dainty index finger to her lips and smiled, nodding. Then she took Lauryn’s face in her hands and kissed her cheeks sweetly. And somehow, even for her silence, Lauryn understood. There would be time to discuss it all. Time for questions and searching. But Lauralynn had wanted to meet her grand-niece. That was what she’d come for this time. Somehow, Lauryn understood that. And with one more gentle kiss placed on Lauryn’s forehead, and a soft whisper of, “Lauryn,” she was gone, leaving only the lingering fragrance of wisteria.

“
You loved her instantly, didn’t you?” Brant asked in a whisper.

“
I did,” Lauryn admitted, wiping her tears from her cheeks.

Brant smiled, complete understanding evident in his expression. “I’ll leave you then. To get some rest so that…”

“
I can’t possibly sleep now, Brant!” Lauryn exclaimed fairly leaping from her bed and snatching the robe Aunt Felicity had left from a nearby chair. “Take me to the Captain’s trunk.”

“
Now?” Brant asked, standing before her in nothing but his trousers.

“
Well, of course. That’s what we came to do, isn’t it?”

Brant smiled and nodded. “We did.”

The attic of Brant’s family home wasn’t nearly as inviting, or as well kept as the attic at Connemara. Still, Lauryn found it somewhat charming in its own right, even though completely frigid. It was dark, except for the light of the lantern Brant brought with them and smelled of dust that had been settling for years.

“
It’s pretty creepy up here,” Brant mumbled, as he tossed aside an old quilt covering several trunks.

“
Are there spiders?” Lauryn ventured.

“
Of course.” Brant answered plainly. Lauryn scratched the back of her neck as it prickled with anticipation of the possibility of seeing an eight-legged nemesis at any given moment.

“
It’s right here,” Brant mumbled, setting the lantern on the floor next to where he hunkered. “Are you sure we should…”

“
Open it,” Lauryn demanded. She was curious cold, and impatient.

“
Bossy little thing when you’re tired, aren’t you?” Brant struggled with the trunk latch for a moment and then, as Lauryn’s eyes widened, he lifted the lid to reveal the ancient treasures within.

Reverently, Lauryn knelt next to Brant and peered into the trunk. A man’s trunk was differently packed than a woman’s and no doubt the things he held valuable would be just as dissimilar.

“
Go ahead,” Brant whispered. “You first.”

It struck Lauryn then how uncomfortable Brant was about the Captain. He hadn’t known the Captain like she had. To him, the Captain was a stranger.

Reaching into the trunk, Lauryn blinked back the tears that welled into her eyes at the realization the Captain’s possessions, tangible items that he had owned, were at her fingertips. The first thing she removed was a set of men’s clothing, a suit. It was dark blue, woolen.

“
Probably his wedding clothes,” Brant mumbled. Lauryn nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tenderly laid the suit aside. She shivered, chilled by the cold, night air of Vermont.

“
Come here,” Brant demanded, sitting down on the floor, he pulled Lauryn into his lap and rubbed her arms for a moment to warm her.

Lauryn smiled, much warmer in Brant’s protective grasp, and reached into the trunk again. A large knife, the handle engraved with the Captain’s name, was the next item she found herself studying.

“
It was a gift from his father,” Brant explained. “On his twelfth birthday. A hunting knife.”

“
Seems a little lethal for a boy of twelve,” Lauryn mused, trying to imagine Patrick in possession of such a knife in just a few years.

There was a stack of photographs within, photographs of Lauralynn and of ancestors unknown to Lauryn, but familiar to Brant.

“
There’s Aunt Felicity.” Brant pointed to a young girl posing stiffly in one group photo in which Lauryn also recognized a younger, less matured Brandon Masterson.

“
She’s adorable!” Lauryn exclaimed in delight upon identifying Brant’s great-aunt as a girl of perhaps five or six, slathered in ringlets and lace.

Brant chuckled. “She looks very much the same in a way. Doesn’t she?”

“
And I’m certain she was just as saucy.” Lauryn caressed the photograph, melancholy over the years that had passed between its creation and the time they now held it.

“
I don’t doubt it,” Brant mumbled.

Setting aside the photographs, Lauryn retrieved other items from the trunk. An old bridle, a piece of cedar whittled into the shape of a pistol and a tiny box marked ‘
Lauralynn
’ which held several locks of wavy, cream-colored hair. Last, was the leather-bound book.

“
The diary!” Lauryn exclaimed in awe.

“
Journal,” Brant corrected.

Lauryn looked over her shoulder and smiled up at him. “The journal,” she corrected.

Her body began to tremble with the anticipation of secrets the book might contain. Would she and Brant find answers within? Would finding the answers they needed to reunite the Captain and Laura be that simple for them? As simple as cracking the spine of a book that had been at Brant’s fingertips for nearly his entire life?

Immediately, Lauryn’s hopes were dashed as she carefully turned the pages, realizing that it was merely a ledger of Brand’s personal finances. Money earned, obligations paid. Yet, there were still interesting things to be noted.

“
Look at this,” Lauryn whispered. “It’s a notation about a purchase from a jeweler
. ‘One gold wedding band with, and including, three stones: one diamond (1/2 carat), two rubies (1/4 carat each).’
”

“
Lauryn’s wedding ring from Brand,” Brant mumbled. “It’s a legendary story in our family. He spent six months’ wages on it, or something like that.”

Lauryn smiled and flipped through several more pages of the book. “And look at this,” she muttered. “After they were married…almost six months later.
‘$10 United States Currency…sent to Lauryn to give to C.’
”

“
I’m sure he had to send her every cent he got,” Brant offered. “Confederate money was worthless by then and she was still in Franklin.”

“
I wonder what ‘C’ means?” Lauryn mused. Still, the book, as interesting and as priceless a treasure that it was, didn’t seem to hold any keys to the mystery of Laura’s disappearance.

“
That’s it,” Lauryn sighed as she leaned over and looked into the empty trunk to assure she’d removed everything.

Brant sighed. “I guess I kidnapped you for nothing.” He leaned over, placing his hand in the bottom of the trunk and feeling around as if hoping to find some tiny clue. He sighed again, admitting their cause was lost—for the moment.

“
Let’s get back to bed,” he grumbled, carefully pushing Lauryn from his lap and standing. But, Lauryn wasn’t finished. These were the Captain’s things. His earthly life.

“
Would you…would you mind if I stayed a moment?” she asked. “Just to…just think on it all?”

Brant rubbed his tired eyes. “Of course not.” And sensing she wanted to be alone asked, “Can you find your way back? Will you be careful on the stairs?”

Lauryn smiled up at him, “Yes, Brant. Thank you.” He nodded and left her to her own thoughts. The moment he was gone, Lauryn burst into sobbing.

However would they find Laura? There seemed no way. Brant and Lauryn had searched everywhere, taxed their brains until they were sore! And for what? For nothing! Nothing except frustration and something to keep them both from going on with life.

Heartbroken, defeated and fatigued, Lauryn laid down on the dusty pile of quilts nearby and continued to sob. For a long time she cried. Cried for the Captain, for his lost beauty, and for Brant. Cried for want of owning his heart, freely.

After a while, she began to feel a soothing warmth, a soft hand stroking her hair. She breathed in the fragrances of Connemara and home. She was not alone any longer. She could sense Laura at her side and even though she could feel her hair moving as the ghostly beauty comforted her, even though she could just barely discern the beloved sense of the wisteria of Connemara…Lauralynn did not fully reveal herself. She stayed a whisper away from Lauryn’s vision and this prompted the tormented girl that lay on the quilts to close her eyes. To dream of home and of Brant. Of his smile and embrace. Of his kiss and protective nature. And she slept then. Slept peacefully as one by one an unseen presence lovingly returned the Captain’s things to the confines of the trunk nearby.

Chapter
Sixteen

Brant pushed open the door to the attic. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet. Still, the first rays of its arrival were peeking through the dusty attic windows and allowed just enough light for Brant to see through the darkness of the dusty room.

He had spent a fitful night. And for two very good reasons—the fact that he had the overwhelming feeling of having overlooked something important, and the fact that he couldn’t keep Lauryn out of his mind’s eye.

She was distracting him, he knew, and this distraction was slowing their search. At the same time, he wanted the distraction. He wanted to concentrate on ways to make her cheeks burn with a delighted blush. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, talk to her about something besides the infernal problem before them.

Yes, she was distracting him to a dangerous level. He’d lain awake for some time after leaving her in the attic, wondering what he should do. Should he cut himself off from her completely, except to discuss the Captain and Laura’s predicament? He’d almost convinced himself that he should. For he kept thinking of the expression on her face when he’d kissed her in the train, when he’d nearly ravished her under the dogwoods. The flash of her eyes, the pink in her beautiful cheeks.