Kate Kingsbury - Wedding Rows

Right at that minute, however, none of that seemed to matter. No one was around to see them, and heaven only knew when she would be alone with him again. If ever. No, she would not take back the words.

She waited for what seemed an eternity before he moved. She wondered if he’d understood, but then he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. It seemed as if everything-the trees, dogs, birds, the grass, the ocean, the sun, and the salty breeze, all of it-disappeared into one soundless moment in time. So this, she thought with a sense of wonder, this is what being in love is really like.

Polly flew up the stairs so fast she tripped at the top and went sprawling onto the landing. The carpet scraped her knee and she winced. Another flipping ladder to ruin her stockings.

Edna’s voice screeched up the stairs. “What are you doing up there? You sound like a herd of elephants.”

Polly pulled a face and scrambled to her feet. “I tripped, that’s all.” The precious letter had crumpled in her hand, and she smoothed it out.

“It’s those blasted high heels you wear. You’ll break your neck in those, my girl. You mark my words.”

Having heard the dire warning too many times to count, Polly ignored it and limped into the bedroom. With a flick of her foot she kicked off one sandal, then the other, and sank onto the bed.

She stared at her address written in an untidy scrawl across the envelope. Just above her name was a smudge of dirt, as if it had been splashed with mud. Tense with excitement, she stared at it, wondering where the writer had been when he wrote the letter.

There was one way to find out. Very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, she opened the flap with her thumb and drew out the flimsy pages.

There were three pages altogether, covered in the same scrawl, which at times was hard to read. She skimmed through it at first, skipping the newsy parts to get to something personal. She found it halfway down the last page.

You sound like a really nice girl. Polly. I hope you’ll go on writing to me. I’d love to hear from you again. If you can, send me a photograph. I’d like to know what you look like. I’ll send you one of me in the next letter. Until then, I’ll be thinking about you and looking forward to hearing from you again. Yours sincerely, Pte. Tom Reynolds.

Polly pressed the letter against her heart for a moment. His name was Tom! He was nineteen. Only three years older than her. He lived in Surrey, near London, and he liked dancing and football. Well, she wasn’t much of a dancer, and she never saw a football match, but that was something that could be worked on later. Tom. She tried it out loud. “Tom and Polly Reynolds.” Yes, it sounded good.

She went back and read the letter again, more slowly this time, taking in every word. He sounded well-educated. That worried her for a moment. She hoped he didn’t talk posh like Tess. Winterhalter. That would put a block on it from the start. Oh, well. She’d worry about that later.

She leapt from the bed and opened the top drawer of her dressing table. The cardboard cigar box that held her photographs was tucked underneath a pile of undies. She drew it out and opened it, then spread all the photographs out on the bed.

This one made her look too young. This one made her look ugly. In this one her hair was a mess, and this one was taken on a windy day and half her hair was wrapped around her face. None of them made her look like a film star.

Finally, in desperation, she settled on one that didn’t look too bad. It was taken in the summer, by Sam. She was standing by her bicycle and laughing at something Sam had said. The blue and white frock she had on that day was one of her favorites, with its little puffy sleeves and a full skirt.

For a moment tears pricked at her eyelids when she remembered that day. It was taken before the accident that had messed up Sam’s face. He looked so handsome back then. She thought she’d never seen anyone so handsome. Not even Clark Gable or Errol Flynn was as handsome as her Sam.

She stared at the photograph in her hand. She couldn’t send this to a stranger. Not if it meant explaining about Sam. She looked at the pile of discarded photographs lying on the bed, then at the one in her hand again. Confused and uncertain, she reached for Tom’s letter and read it again.

He’d never know Sam took it. She’d never tell him. Not even if they ended up getting married and living the rest of their lives together.

With a long sigh she gathered up the rest of the photographs and put them back in the box. After tucking it away in the drawer, she fetched her writing pad and pencil and started her letter to Tom. When she was finished, she tucked the photograph inside the letter, sealed the envelope, and propped it up on her dressing table. Tomorrow she’d take it to the post office.

At the door to her bedroom she paused and looked back. The envelope stared back at her, full of promise and exciting unknowns. “Good-bye, Sam,” she said softly, and closed the door.

Elizabeth was quite breathless when Earl finally let her go. Breathless and dizzy and feeling ridiculously young and shy. She couldn’t look at him, and instead pretended to be anxious about the dogs, both of whom were chasing butterflies, blissfully oblivious of the earth-shattering moment that had just taken place.

He still held her hands, and she sought frantically in her mind for something sensible to say. Anything that would break the forbidden spell that bonded them. In desperation, she said the first words that popped into her mind. “I’m supposed to be investigating a murder.”

Earl’s voice sounded strange when he answered. “Elizabeth, you have the darndest knack for deflating a man’s ego.”

Appalled at her insensitivity, she stared up at him. “Oh, Earl, I didn’t mean…”

His chuckle both surprised and relieved her. “It’s all right. You’re being sensible and practical and all the things I’m supposed to be and can’t be right now. And you’re right. This isn’t a good idea. I guess we just got caught up in the moment.”

For some reason, his words disheartened her. “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it,” she murmured. “Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just that-”

Gently he laid a finger on her lips. “I know. You don’t have to explain. There’ll be a right time for us. We just have to be patient, that’s all.”

Her smile was an effort. “Sometimes it’s hard.”

“Tell me about it.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Come on, let’s corral George and Gracie and give them a ride back to the manor. They love to ride in the Jeep.”

Sad that her short, blissful time with him was ending so rapidly, she watched him whistle to the dogs. They came at once and, tails wagging, followed him back to the Jeep. She trailed behind them, committing to memory the picture of man and dogs, happy and carefree in each other’s company. It would be all she had while he was away.

Arriving back at the manor, he pulled up in the courtyard and turned to her. The dogs leapt from the Jeep and disappeared around the corner of the ancient building. “I guess this is good-bye for a while,” he said, smiling down at her.

It was hard to smile back. “You take care of yourself,” she said, striving to keep her tone light.

“You, too.” His grin faded. “Stay out of harm’s way, Elizabeth. I won’t always be around to help out.”

“I know.” She grasped his hand in both of hers. “Don’t worry about me, Earl. I promise I won’t do anything foolish. Just concentrate on coming safely back to me.”

“You’ve got a deal.” He touched her cheek with his free hand. “So long, sweetheart.”