Wedding at Wildwood (15 page)

“Yes, but…” Isabel stopped, her head lifting, her spine straightening. “You know, I don’t owe any of you an explanation for what I did or didn’t do. I don’t belong here—I never did. I was perfectly happy with my life in Savannah, until you called me back.”

“My mistake,” Susan replied harshly. “If you’ll just make sure my wedding pictures are delivered, I’ll send you a check in the mail.”

“Forget it,” Isabel retorted. “You’ll get your precious pictures, but I don’t want your money.”

“That’s a hoot,” Eli said. “I guess once you found out there might not be any money to be had, you decided to string my innocent little brother along just for fun. Of course, he has managed to eek out a living for himself with those fancy bookstores. Guess you’ll have to settle for that.”

“Is that really what you think of me?” Isabel said, her voice shaking with rage and sorrow. Turning to Dillon, she repeated her question. “Is that what you believe?”

“Right now, I don’t know what to believe,” he said on a weary voice. “It would have been nice if someone had warned me about this disaster, though.”

The implications of his statement sealed things for Isabel. He would never trust her again; maybe he’d never trusted her at all. And he surely would never be able to love her, not with all of Eli’s poison spouting through his mind. Her gaze moved over the worried, defensive faces of the people in the room. There was a quiet desperation here, between these brothers. And it would always be here, holding them at odds. Well, she refused to be a part of it, ever again.

Whirling back to Eli, she told him, “You contradict yourself. First, you tell me I’m just out to get Dillon, then you swear I’m out to get part of Wildwood. What are you so afraid of, Eli, that I’ll wind up with both your brother
and
your heritage?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. I’m just protecting what’s mine.”

Isabel stared at him in awe. “Oh, so that’s why you’ve let Wildwood go into debt?”

“Get out,” Eli told her, his finger pointing toward the door. “Get off my land, and take your do-gooder grandmother there with you.”

“Eli!” Disgusted, Dillon could only stare at his brother.

Cynthia gasped. “Eli, that kind of talk is uncalled-for. Martha Landry is my friend, and I won’t tolerate you being disrespectful to her.”

“Sorry,” Eli replied, but his expression only grew more harsh. “Mama, there’s not much I can do for Miss Martha, anyway. She’s gonna have to move once this auction goes through.”

Martha spoke up then. “You don’t have to tell us twice, Eli. You’re a sad, bitter man and you’re lashing out, grasping at straws to try to justify your own selfish actions. And right now, you’re rejecting the very cornerstone that you need to be holding on to.”

“Get out,” Eli repeated. “Take your Bible quotes and get out.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cynthia said, tears streaming down her face. “He doesn’t mean it, Martha. You know he doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes, he does,” Martha replied, her own eyes watering up. “But you don’t fret for Isabel and me. We’ll be just fine.”

Dillon had been standing as still as a statue, but now he raised his head. “Isabel, wait.”

Isabel turned at the door. “No, Dillon. Eli is right about one thing.” Her voice cracked, but she held the tears at bay. “I have always loved you. But tonight, you proved that isn’t enough. You can’t even trust me enough to tell me what happened so long ago, yet you have the audacity to stand there and judge me simply because I was trying to save you any further pain.

“I waited until after the wedding to talk to you, so I wouldn’t be accused of ruining things for Susan and Eli. Then I listened and waited as you told me all your grand plans for Wildwood. I didn’t want to be the one to have to tell you the bad news, Dillon. So I waited too long, too late, hoping you’d learn to trust me. And now, I’ve waited long enough. I’m done with the Murdocks, for good.”

Lifting her head, she directed her gaze toward Eli. “Don’t worry, we’ll be gone by the end of the week, auction or no auction. And as for you two, I hope you don’t let this grudge continue to fester. Because if you do, neither one of you will ever be truly happy.” Then she looked back at Dillon. “I’m sorry you fought because of me. But whatever caused this rift, whatever part I inadvertently had in it, it stops here and now. I will not be a bone of contention between the two of you. Maybe with me out of the picture again, you can work together to save Wildwood. After all, that is what matters the most to both of you, right?”

“I
didn’t think it would matter to me so much, Grammy,” Isabel said as they put the last of a set of old, chipped dishes into the large moving box. “I didn’t realize how much I loved Wildwood or this old house, until it was too late.”

All around them, the house sat still while a soft drizzle covered the surrounding countryside in a fine mist. In every corner, boxes sat marked for either storage or transfer. They’d reached a tentative plan. Martha would move to Savannah with Isabel for the rest of the summer.

As to where her grandmother would live permanently, a small house close to the unincorporated town of Wildwood proper was coming up for sale in the fall, and if Isabel could swing the financing, she intended to buy it for her grandmother. She’d already spoken to the man who owned it. Now, if she could just work out the details.

In the meantime, as Martha had pointed out, they’d have some time together, then each get back to their own lives. But she refused to live indefinitely with her granddaughter—she thought it best if Isabel and she both continued to maintain their own space and independence.

“Oh, honey,” Martha replied now, reaching across the box to give Isabel a hug, “we’re going to be all right. We’ll survive and we’ll just chalk this up to a new adventure, a new path in our faith journey.”

Isabel sat back on the footstool she’d pulled up to the deep box. “You amaze me, Grammy. You’re dealing with all of this much better than I am.”

Martha’s soft chuckle filled the still morning. “That’s because I don’t have a vested interest in this place the way you do.”

“You mean Dillon.”

Martha nodded. “Still hasn’t come around, huh?”

Isabel shook her head, her eyes automatically going to the window, her mind moving toward the looming presence of the house that Dillon had been holed up in since Eli had come home. “I can’t blame him. It was wrong of me to keep all of this from him.”

Martha took a sip of the hot tea she’d brewed earlier. “Your heart was in the right place. And you were right—you don’t need to be at the center of those boys’ troubles.”

“Which apparently I have always been,” Isabel reminded her. “But I guess that doesn’t matter any more.”

Martha stood up to stretch. “What say we take a little midmorning break? I’ve got chocolate chip cookies.”

“Sounds good,” Isabel said, her tone dull and absent. Standing herself, she dropped the stack of
Wildwood Weekly
newspapers she’d been using to wrap plates, then walked over to the open screen door.

The rain colored everything in shades of gray and blue, and gave the old mansion a melancholy look that tore through Isabel’s consciousness with such a poignant tugging she had to suck in her breath. Why did this pain feel as if it would literally rip her body in two? Why did loving Dillon so much have to be so wrong?

Needing to feel the wind and water on her hot skin, Isabel grabbed a lightweight white-and-blue-striped rain slicker, then reached for the small, waterproof camera she kept for just such days. “Grammy, I want to get a few shots of the house in the rain. I’ll be back in time to finish up these dishes before lunch.”

“What about your cookies?” Martha asked from the kitchen.

“I’ll eat them on the way.”

With that, Isabel grabbed a couple of the fat, brown cookies from the tin her surprised grandmother was holding, and shoved them in the pocket of her slicker.

“All right,” Martha said to herself, her eyes wide as she watched Isabel skip down the slippery steps. “Got to get that one last shot—of Dillon Murdock.”

Then, smiling softly, she sat down and munched her own cookie, her eyes roaming around the sad remains of her life here on this beautiful piece of God’s green earth.

“Help her, Lord,” she said now, her eyes closed in a fervent attempt to intervene where her granddaughter’s heart was concerned. “Help them both. Show them the life You envision for them, Dear Father. And while You’re at it, how about sending a little inspiration my way, too.”

With that, she finished her cookie and tea, then sat back down to wrap up her memories, in shapes of round and square, some soft with age, others as fresh as the new rain falling outside. She’d never been more lonely, but Martha lifted her eyes to the cloudy sky, and smiled in spite of the ache in her heart.

Isabel snapped another round of black-and-whites, her mind centered on her art, her turmoil settling down a bit as she captured the essence of this land and the old, columned mansion. With the drooping wildflowers in front, and the rows of lush cotton growing in back, the house seemed caught in a time warp. Wildwood’s history was tumultuous at best, but the house still held a timeless beauty.

Slaves had worked this land at one time, then once the Civil War had ended that horrid practice, sharecroppers, both black and white, had taken their place. Her father had come from a long line of sharecroppers, and had continued that tradition. And all the while, the aloof, condescending Murdocks had ruled over the land.

Except for Dillon. For some reason, he had broken with tradition. He had rebelled. Why?

Isabel knew part of that answer. Dillon was a sensitive, caring man who couldn’t tolerate bigotry or prejudice in anyone, including his own family. Couple that with his hunger for knowledge, his need to educate himself and expand his own horizons and visions, and the puzzle pieces started falling into place. He’d obviously taken a stand against his father and his brother.

But how had she played a part in that?

Why had Dillon and Eli fought over her?

Probably because Dillon flirted with you one time too many and Eli pushed him into a fight about it.

That had to be it. Eli had probably taunted Dillon to no end, and Dillon had finally snapped. But to the point of leaving for good?

So many secrets, so much pain and resentment, shuttered behind the walls of that old, crumbling mansion. Would she ever know the real story?

The house stared back at her, its windows flung open to the rain, its many roofs and eaves dripping with a pretty tinkling melody of water against tin and shingle. The windows might be open to the outside world, but this house held to its secrets like a widow clinging to a faded family portrait.

Stopping at last, she wiped her small camera down on the inside pile lining of her coat, then dropped it into one of the slicker’s large, long pockets. Rising up from her crouched position to wipe raindrops away from her brow, she stilled as memories of being here with Dillon fell all around her with the same gentleness as this endless summer rain.

Three days and not a word from him. He had shut down completely, reminding her of the old, brooding Dillon.

Had she hurt him that badly, or was this just an excuse for him to run away again?

She’d thought about confronting him, just having it out with him once and for all, but her pride wouldn’t allow that. After all, she’d bared her soul to him, giving him promises as freely as she’d given him kisses. And he’d taken those promises and thrown them back in her face.

And, she reminded herself bitterly, he’d made no promises of his own. He’d asked her to stay, but now he didn’t need her or her misguided help. Or her love.

Closing her eyes, Isabel held her head up to the rain and let the tears she’d held back for so long fall freely down her moist cheeks. “Is this my answer then, Lord? Is this the way it has to be?”

How could he live without her? Dillon asked himself as he stood at the huge, open parlor windows, watching Isabel through the sheer ancient curtains. How could he watch her without losing his heart all over again?

How could he forgive her?

Was there really anything to forgive?

He’d thought about her, day and night, since that terrible scene in Eli’s kitchen. And he remembered every nuance, every fiber of
her.
He remembered the disbelief and the disappointment on her pretty face when he hadn’t leapt to her defense. He remembered the hurt and the shock in her eyes when she’d realized that he and Eli had fought over her long ago. He remembered watching her go, and wanting to pull her back.

But, coward that he was, he hadn’t done so. No, instead he’d buried himself in finding a way to stop this land auction, while he’d buried his feelings for Isabel behind a facade as fragile and torn as these decaying, moth-eaten curtains.

C’mon, Dillon,
he told himself now, one hand on the lace and the other on the window frame.
You know she didn’t mean to deceive you. You know you told her to stay away. You could have at least listened to her explanation.

He knew all of that, but still, it hurt. It hurt because he loved her. And, he’d come so close to telling her all his secrets and…he’d come so close to letting her really see inside his soul.

And all that time, she had been aware that something might happen, that Eli was up to something.

Why hadn’t she just told him the truth?

And why haven’t you just told her the truth?
the voice inside his head echoed right back at him.

Because he’d wanted to protect her.

And maybe, blockhead, that’s what she was trying to do for you.

What would happen if he did exactly that? he wondered now. What if he just told her the truth, and hoped for the best, on faith alone?

“Two are better than one.”

The verse came into his head, reminding him of a need so great, he shook from the force of it. He needed Isabel. He loved Isabel. And he had been fighting for all the wrong reasons.

“For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up.”

Dropping the curtain, Dillon stepped back into the darkness of the house, then whirled, his boots clicking with purpose against the old hardwood floors. He knew that before Isabel left Wildwood, he owed her the truth, at least.

At last.

Isabel
felt
him moving toward her before she saw him. Dillon stalked through the wildflowers, his gray eyes centered on her, his whole body tense, his expression unreadable.

Her heart pounded against the warmth of her slicker as she watched him. Devoid of either coat or hat, he kept coming. Apparently, the man had something on his mind.

But she wasn’t ready to hear it.

Not willing to bear the brunt of his wrath, Isabel turned back toward the lane leading to her house.

“Isabel, wait!”

She heard him calling, remembered he’d said those exact same words to her the last time she’d seen him. But still she walked toward home, willing herself to be strong.

“Issy, please!”

That stopped her. That note of despair, that hint of regret. That vulnerable quality she’d sensed in him so many times before.

She turned, her eyes touching on his face, her breath leaving her body in a soft sigh of defeat. “What is it, Dillon?”

He met up with her in the middle of the flowers, in the center of the lane where they’d first fallen amid the blossoms all those days ago.

Reaching out to touch her across the short distance, he took a long, shuddering breath. “I…I want to tell you, Issy. I want to tell you everything.”

Thinking she’d heard him wrong, Isabel just stood there with her lips parted. Then, coming to her senses, she asked, “But what about…what about me keeping Eli’s troubles from you?”

He shrugged, his hand still on her arm. “A minor technicality, all things considered.”

Afraid to move, she whispered, “What made you change your mind?”

He moved his hand up the arm of her wet slicker, to coax a tangled mass of damp, heavy curls off her shoulder. “Yours was the lesser of two evils,” he explained. “I figured you didn’t owe me any explanations, since I had refused to ever give you any.”

“So you thought I withheld what I knew deliberately?”

“No, I thought you did it strictly as a self-preservation tactic. And you were wise to stay out of things.”

“Why?”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he held her with an unflinching gaze. “It’s a long, ugly story. But I want you to know, before I tell you everything—I love you, Issy.”

She gulped, opened her mouth to speak, but he brought a finger up to touch her parted lips. “Just listen, and while you listen, remember that one thing, please?”

“Okay.”

He dropped his hands away, and stepped back. “Eli and I were at the pond, fishing with our father. He and Eli were in one of their less charitable moods, so they started teasing me—about you.”

At her hiss of breath, he held up a hand. “Just listen.”

She nodded silently.

“Eli told my dad that I was hung up on you. Up until then, Dad had been just kinda ribbing me, but all of a sudden he turned nasty.

“Then my father turned to me and told me to drop that notion. He said Murdocks don’t mess with girls like Isabel Landry. That I wouldn’t want to wind up marrying beneath myself.

“And I asked if he meant we were better than the Landrys.

“Eli chimed in and said we’d always be better than that ‘poor trash.’ Then he turned to Dad, and grinned. He mentioned your father, how Leonard had had the nerve to want to buy a house in town. It seemed your father wanted to move off Wildwood. Eli couldn’t believe that, considering everything we’d done for him.”

Isabel interrupted. “What are you telling me? You knew about my father trying to move away?”

“I knew,” Dillon replied, the bitterness choking his response. “Eli told me earlier that day, your father had come to speak with him and my father, asking for a loan to buy a house in town. He wanted to buy it for your mother as an anniversary gift, but of course, he didn’t have enough money for the down payment.”

He couldn’t, wouldn’t tell her that Eli had taken great pleasure in mimicking her father—his hat in his hand, his head down, his voice shaky.

“I remember when that all occurred,” Isabel said, her tone so quiet Dillon could barely hear it above the drizzle. “He was so excited about that house. He told Mother and me it would be a new beginning, that they could at last retire in a home they truly owned.” She shrugged. “Then, he just changed completely. When I mentioned the house again, he told me we wouldn’t be moving. And he told me to just forget about it. But I never did.”