An Unlikely Love (17 page)

“It certainly does.” Her voice trembled as much as her hands. She grabbed her skirt and shook her hems into place then brushed back her fallen curls. “Oh, my.” Red and gold streaks from the setting sun shot their brilliance through the dusk settling over the dark, placid lake. A steamer, pristine white against the sweeping line of the dark tree-covered hills that formed the far shore, floated in regal splendor at the center point, and dozens of canoes and rowboats, holding gaily dressed ladies and their beaus, bobbed gently on the water between. She had a sudden, fervent wish that she and Grant were part of that beauty. Her heart swelled with a yearning ache that stole all pleasure from the moment. She sat, stretched her feet to the ground and moved to stand beside the tree, trying not to remember.

The streaks of red and gold were swallowed by the night sky. Along the shore, torches flickered, then flamed to life. A loud bang sounded. A flare, trailing light, streaked skyward from the steamer then burst into a bouquet of tiny flares that drifted down toward the water. A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

“It's begun. I must record this.” Clarice slipped from the rock, opened her writing case, pulled out a candle and grinned up at her. “I'm always prepared.”

“So I see.” She forced a smile and nodded toward the paper Clarice was placing on the lid of her writing desk. “And who are to be the hero and heroine of this ‘adventure'?”

“Miss Practical and Chautauqua Beau.” Clarice pulled out her pencil and started writing. “You see, Miss Practical didn't realize it would happen when they met—but the man has quite stolen her heart.”

Marissa stared at Clarice, fought back a sob before it escaped, then slipped around behind the tree and let the tears fall.

* * *

The day was waning, yielding its dominance to the coming night. A quiet time that lent itself to contemplation—and conversations. Grant gazed up at the red-and-gold streaked sky, shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled.
Peacefulness was downright irritating when your heart ached.

“I'm so thankful there was enough profit to pay the debts and still have what is needed for the coming year's expenses.” The soles of his mother's shoes brushed against the porch floor as she came to stand beside him. “So very thankful you didn't have to go into further debt to see us through, Grant. It's a blessing.”

The word grated. It felt like a trap to him. He pressed his lips together to keep back words that would serve no good purpose and rolled his shoulders to relax the tight muscles.

“Although I don't imagine it feels like much of a blessing to you. Not when there is another mortgage payment due next year.”

He yanked his hands from his pockets and turned to look at her. “Mr. Taylor had no business telling you about that. He shouldn't have discussed the vineyard finances with you at all—I don't care if he is an old friend. I'm managing things now. The debt is mine, and I'll take care of it. He had no right to put that worry on you.” He stopped, looked down at her hand on his arm.

“I'm sorry your money is gone, Grant. I know you had plans...”

Marissa.
Pain shot through him. He straightened and forced his lips into a grin. He couldn't let his mother know what losing that money had cost him. “Who, me? I'm too old to be going off to college to learn to be a scientist.”

She looked at him.

He did his best to maintain that phony grin and meet her steady gaze.

“You forgot about the soap, Grant. Marissa didn't come today.”

“No.” He looked back out over the vines, fought to keep his voice even. “She won't be coming again.” He clenched his jaw, fought the ache in his heart.

Silence settled. He looked ahead into the dark space of empty years.

His mother drew a breath, went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Don't lose faith, Grant. God will turn this into a blessing for both of you. You wait and see. I don't know how, but God will turn this into a blessing.”

A blessing! Marissa was gone out of his life.
He couldn't answer. The best he could do was nod.

Chapter Fifteen

M
arissa willed her feet to go faster up the hill. It was amazing...unbelievable. But the anger was truly gone. She'd waited for it to return, certain that it was only the emotion of the prayer that had caused the deep sorrow to replace the anger and bring her love for her father back. But she still felt exactly the same when she rose this morning after her restless night. God had somehow changed her heart. It was the only answer. Five years! Five years of anger were simply
gone
. And if the Lord could do that...

It will be interesting to see how the Lord works things out.

The hollow ache inside grew. She'd made a mistake. A horrible, terrible mistake! The thought of being around those vines for two more years was still repugnant to her, but she should not have gone against her heart and cut Grant out of her life. She should have at least tried. She should have waited for the Lord to work His will as Mrs. Winston had said. Was there still a chance? She blinked her red, swollen, dry and burning eyes, fought for breath as she crested the hill.
Forgive me for my unbelief, Lord. Please forgive me, and have Your way. Oh, God, please let there be a promise of tomorrow.

The morning sun bathed the front of the house. She rushed up the sidewalk to the vine-covered porch and knocked, made herself wait. Would Mrs. Winston turn her away? Would Grant tell her to go?

The door opened and Mrs. Winston stood there in her black gown.
Please, Lord—

“It's about time! He's almost through with his coffee.” Mrs. Winston stepped back, swept her hand through the air in a command. “He's on the back porch.” Her smile conveyed her blessing.

“Thank you.” She breathed the words, lifted her hems and ran through the sitting room, pulled open the door. “Grant...”

He spun around, threw the cup in his hand and lunged forward.

She made it halfway across the porch before she was crushed breathless against him, her arms around his neck, her feet dangling in the air. “Grant, I—”

“Marissa...”

She met his kiss, returned it with all of the yearning that swelled her heart.

“I thought I'd lost you...”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, at the vines that fell away down the hill behind him and shook her head. “Not if you're willing to wait for two years.”

“Well, I must say, you two sound very sensible. I find that a little surprising.” Mrs. Winston touched the stoneware cup on the table, glanced at the splatter of dried coffee on the porch floor and laughed. “You seemed a bit impatient a few minutes ago.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I'll mop—” She tried to move.

Grant laughed and tightened his arms around her waist. “I'll do it later, Marissa. After you've gone back to Fair Point. Until then, you're staying right where you are.”

“We'll leave the coffee where it lies, for now.” Mrs. Winston's eyes twinkled. “I rather like looking at that evidence of my son's happiness. And of God's blessing.”

God's blessing? Yes.
She rested back against Grant, who was leaning against the railing behind them, and sighed. Two years seemed a very long time.
Two years.
Would their feelings for each other survive the separation? She forced a smile to hide her aching heart.

Mrs. Winston picked up the cup. “Now, I'm going inside to wash the breakfast dishes, including this cup.” She reached for the kitchen door, stopped and turned back to face them. “Marissa, I know this is your last day at Chautauqua, and I will be coming with Grant to hear your lecture. I know Andrew would want me to, and I don't care a fig about propriety—I care about you and my son. And so does our Abba, Father.”

Mrs. Winston clasped the cup against her chest and closed her eyes. “Father God, I have learned of the financial situation that ties Grant to the vineyard. And I know of the pain and grief that form a barrier to Marissa being with him while he tends the vines.”

Grant's arms pulled her closer. Marissa swallowed hard and closed her eyes.

“It
seems
a snare with no escape. But I know You, Father God. And I know, also, that there is a vast difference between a snare and an embrace. Both encircle you—but one to do ill, and the other to love and protect. So I ask that You, Father God,
break
the snare that keeps Marissa and Grant apart, and instead enfold them in the blessing of Your loving embrace. And, Father God, please,
do
something with those grapes!”

If only.

The kitchen door opened and closed. Marissa blinked the tears from her eyes, turned in Grant's arms and rested her head against his shoulder.

* * *

The corn husks crackled. That was a sound she would
not
miss. Marissa smiled and tugged the bottom sheet free of the cot's mattress, folded it and placed it on top of the other linens in her trunk. Her folded gowns and her waterproof filled the Saratoga to overflowing. She glanced around the tent, spotted her slippers, tucked them down the side of the trunk, stuffed her pillow in the domed lid and snapped it closed.

The tent flap flopped aside. Clarice stepped in and put her writing box down on the desk. “You're all packed and ready to go?”

“Yes.” Her smile was a little shaky. She would miss Clarice and her forthright ways. “I'll be taking the steamer to Mayville to catch the train for home after I finish my short lecture summary.”
Home.
Her stomach sank at the thought.

“So the ‘Chautauqua Experience' is over for ‘Miss Practical.'”

Yes. But she wouldn't end it on a melancholy note. She gave Clarice a wry smile. “Well, a bit of it will live on in print.” The laughter chased any sadness at parting away.

“True enough. Perhaps more than you know.”

“Oh, dear.” She peered at Clarice's mischievous grin. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, a walk at dusk along the lake shore with ‘Mr. Boat Man.'”

“Clarice!”

Her tent mate gave a delighted laugh. “Your face is so transparent, Marissa! Did you really think I wouldn't recognize Mr. Winston?”

“Well, I
hoped
!”

“Miss Bradley! Good afternoon, Miss Bradley! Is your trunk ready to be carried down?”

She spun about at the call and hurried to throw back the tent flap. “Yes, it is. That's it over there. It's to go on the
Colonel Phillips
, bound for the train station at Mayville.” Her stomach flopped. Her Chautauqua experience truly was coming to an end.

“I'll see to it, miss.” The man hefted the Saratoga to his shoulder and carried it out the opening.

“Well...” She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and lifted the black wool wrap she would wear on the train off their tree root coatrack. The night air was getting cooler.

Clarice put two new pencils in her writing box, latched it and walked toward her. “I have what I came for. Let's walk down to the Goodbye Teachers Forum together.”

* * *

The sun was sliding toward the hilltop when it was her turn to say goodbye. Marissa stepped to the podium and gazed out at the audience. So many people. But there were quite a few familiar faces she had seen at her lectures. Clarice, of course, sitting at the front with her writing box on her lap and her pencil poised. Mrs. Austin, who nodded and smiled. And Mrs. Austin's daughter, Rose, her face free of bruises, who gave her a shy nod. And there, smiling up at her, were Sarah Swan, and Ina, and Judith, and Lily...

And then her gaze fell on the ones she sought. Mrs. Winston, with her lovely face so calm and serene, looking dignified in her black mourning gown. And Grant, so handsome he took her breath away. She didn't dare meet his gaze, lest she forget everything but him and the wonder of their growing love.

She took a breath, grateful she had only to speak a short summary of her message and then say goodbye. “When I accepted the invitation to speak here at the Chautauqua Sunday School Assembly, it was with a great deal of trepidation. Temperance, the subject of my lectures, is a controversial one.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“Overindulgence in strong drink can alter a man's personality. It can make a kind man cruel and abusive to those who love him, and whom he loves, and bring senseless death to young men through their own foolish actions.”

I miss you, Lincoln.

“I thought there was only one answer to the problem—to close down all of the taverns and inns and clubs where strong drink is sold. And I still wish, with all my heart, that
all
strong drink would cease to exist. But that is an improbable hope.”

Another murmur of agreement spread among her listeners.

There are two sides to this temperance issue, Marissa.
She looked down at Grant, read the understanding in his eyes, and looked away before she lost control and the tears started to fall.

“So I leave Chautauqua with a different wish in my heart. I wish that all of you would extend mercy to those who are the victims of the imbibers. That you would work in your towns and communities to create a shelter for the abused, a place they can flee to when an angry hand is raised against them. A place where they and their family will receive understanding and love, instead of judgment and shame.”

She lifted her hand and grasped her mother's watch, then looked down at Mrs. Winston.

“And I hope that all of you will pray for the
abusers
, and create a place where they, also, might receive help and understanding. For surely, when they sober and realize how they have hurt the ones who love them, the ones they love, they must suffer the pain of torment.”

Please help my father, Lord.
She lowered her hand and lifted her chin, prepared to share the verse she had found yesterday in the clearing when she had prayed for her father.

“The Bible says we are to pray for one another—even those ‘who despitefully use you.' My hope, my
prayer
is that you will answer that call. Thank you and good evening.”

* * *

The house was dark in the dusk, the porch a beckoning shadow. When would she see it again? Marissa closed her mind to the thought. All afternoon and evening she had been saying goodbye, and the hardest was yet to come.

“I'll go in first and light the lamps for you, Mother.”

Grant's voice drew her back to the present; his fading footsteps brought her to another moment of parting. She would miss his mother. She had learned so much from her and had grown to love her. The hems of the short trains on their black gowns brushed across the stone as they walked side by side to the house. Her throat closed around a painful lump when Mrs. Winston stopped at the base of the steps.

“I'm so thankful I came to hear you speak tonight, Marissa. I was very moved by what you said. And I know many others were, as well.”

“That's very generous of you, Mrs. Winston.” She picked a leaf off the vine and tucked it into her pocket to take home with her. “It was you who made me think about how my father must be suffering. I only repeated what you taught me.”

“You said what was in your heart, dear. If I, in any way, helped you to recognize that, I'm very pleased.”

Yellow lamplight spilled from the sitting room window and chased the shadow from the porch.
It was time.
Her eyes stung with tears.

“I shall miss you, Marissa. I've grown very fond of you.”

“And I of you.” The words were a painful whisper. Grant's footsteps sounded on the porch. Mrs. Winston's hand touched her arm.

“Will you write to me, dear? I shall wor—wonder about you, and how you fare with your temperance work. I'll be most interested to know how you come along with the shelter for the abused you are planning to start in your town.”

Grant came off the porch, moved a few steps toward the road and waited.

She swallowed, forced out words, tried for a smile and failed. “I'll write. I'm certain I shall be asking you for advice. Your shelter will be far ahead of mine.”

“
Our
shelter, Marissa.” Mrs. Winston gave a soft, little laugh. “If you hadn't led Sarah and the other ladies in a protest march against the vineyard, the Twin Eagle Vineyard Shelter for the Abused would never have come into being. What a blessing that march turned out to be.”

God will work a blessing for you into every situation.

She blinked and nodded.

Mrs. Winston stepped close, enfolded her in a warm hug. “And what a blessing you are to me, dear. I shall pray for you every day. And for God to work things out.” Mrs. Winston laughed, turned and walked up the steps. “I know you and Grant have made plans, but I believe God has a plan, also. And I prefer His, no matter what it may be, because His way is always the best way. Now, I shall stop talking and go inside so I don't make you miss your train.”

The door closed.

She looked down at the stone walk, took a deep breath and caught her lower lip with her teeth.

“Marissa...”

“Y-yes?”

“If I hold you will it make it better or worse?”

“B-both.”

“Then, for the sake of any neighbors who may be watching, I'll content myself with loaning you my handkerchief.”

A white square of linen was handed over her shoulder and waved like a flag. Her lips twitched. It was exactly the sort of thing Mrs. Winston would do. Grant was a good deal like his mother. It was no wonder she loved them both. “Coward.” She took the handkerchief and dried her eyes, turned and handed it back. “Thank you. I'm ready to go now. Do you think the neighbors would approve if I take your arm?” She gave him a saucy grin.

“A pox on the neighbors!”

The words were a husky growl. Grant clasped both sides of her shawl, gave a quick yank that pulled her close, claimed her lips then let her go.

She stepped back, her cheeks burning, and darted a look at the nearby houses.