An Unlikely Love (5 page)

A frown pulled his straight dark eyebrows together. “I'm sorry if I startled you, Miss Bradley. But you were so lost in thought you didn't notice me.”

Thoughts about
him
! The heat in her cheeks increased. She fussed with a fold in her skirt for an excuse to put her head down. “I was admiring the sight of the
Colonel Phillips
against the night sky.”
Don't mention the steamer!
“And the lake, of course. Even the silvered water is lovely—from a safe distance.” She pressed her lips together to stop her babbling. There was no point in letting the man see that the unfortunate timing of his appearance had her completely undone. It served her right for dreaming about him.

A smile curved his lips. “There is no quivering deck under your feet here.”

It wasn't her feet that were quivering. It was her stomach. She lifted her head, gave him a polite, if somewhat forced, smile and groped for a change of subject. “How did you find me?”
Oh, dear. She'd made it sound as if he were on a quest of some sort!
“I mean, what do you want?”
And that was worse!
She stared at him, aghast at her lack of manners.

His gaze traveled slowly over her face, came to rest on her eyes.

The apology she was about to offer died on her lips.

“You have a penchant for standing alone away from the crowd, Miss Bradley. And you are the only person on this part of the shore. I took a chance that it was you.”

His gaze held hers. He had warm brown eyes. So...warm... The quivering spread to her knees. She broke the eye contact, clenched her hands to keep from pressing them against her stomach and wished he'd stop talking long enough that she could gather her wits together.

“Would you care to stroll with me along the shoreline until it is time for my steamer to leave, Miss Bradley?”

Did he think her bold like Clarice? She pushed at her curls, pretended to adjust her hat to stall for time. His request was innocent enough to be acceptable. What could she say?
I'm sorry, Mr. Winston, but you make me nervous?
It wasn't his fault that she'd been dreaming.
She looked down at his offered arm, nodded and slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow. It felt natural and secure, as if it belonged there. She thrust the thought from her, lifted her hems with her free hand and strolled beside him.

“Did you come to the shore for the concert, Miss Bradley? Or only to admire the view of the lake by night?”

“I came for the concert—along with everyone else here at Chautauqua, it seems. I've never seen so many people in one place. Which is why I am on this side of the dock.” She gave a small laugh, focused her thoughts on answering his question to keep from thinking about his closeness. “The loveliness of the lake view was a pleasant surprise.” She looked at the water slipping along the shore at his side. “Although I cannot say I find it so at the moment. Now that I'm close, the water simply looks dark and dangerous.”

“It's not that way once you know how to swim. It's really quite refreshing to dive into the water on a hot summer's day.”

His smile was too charming. “Ah...” She gave him a sidelong look and shook her head. “I shall no longer be ashamed of my cowardice concerning water, Mr. Winston. I see now why you were so comfortable on the steamer. You live on the lake. Though I still cannot see how that can make diving into its water enjoyable.” She gave a mock shudder.

He chuckled and turned so that they headed back toward the dock. “I have misled you, Miss Bradley. I live in Mayville and our home is not on Chautauqua Lake, though our land borders it. I learned to swim in a small pond on our property when I was four years old.”

“So young?” She halted and looked up at him. “Weren't your mother and father concerned for your safety?”

That deep chuckle rolled from his chest. “They no doubt would have been, had they known about it.” A grin slanted across his mouth. “I fell in the pond.”

She gasped, pressed her hand to the base of her throat. “Who saved you?”

“No one. My wild flailing and kicking eventually got me to the bank. After that I dove in the pond on purpose.” He laughed, tucked her hand back through his arm and started walking again. “I can tell by your horrified expression you've not had any similar experience.”

“I should hope not, Mr. Winston!”

“There are no lakes or ponds for swimming where you live?”

Not after we moved from the farm.
The thought sobered her. She closed her mind to the memories. “No. I live in Fredonia.”

“Ah. Then it is more likely that you are surrounded by vineyards than lakes or ponds.”

“Our home is in the town.” The answer was curt, bordering on the impolite, but she wanted no questions about her home. And no conversation about vineyards!

He stopped, looked down at her. “I hope you won't think me overly forward, Miss Bradley, but I sense that these two weeks at the Chautauqua Assembly are different. People have come from all over the country, and we must make friends quickly. Thus, strict rules of etiquette have to be relaxed. Would you do me the honor of addressing me by my given name—in private, only if you choose?”

“Why, I—”

“I would not ask such freedom of you, but for the special circumstance of Chautauqua. My name is Grant.”

There was sincerity in his voice and in his eyes. Dare she defy propriety?
She caught her breath and nodded. “Very well. Because of Chautauqua...Grant.” Her cheeks warmed. She looked away.

“Thank you, Miss—”

“Marissa.”
Forgive me, Mother.
She made herself look up at him, to read what was in his eyes at her boldness.

“Marissa...”

The
Colonel Phillips
blasted its horn.

She jumped.

He looked at the steamer at the end of the dock, frowned and looked back at her. “The gangplank's being set in place. I have to go.” He released her arm, stepped toward the dock, then returned to her. “I will be back for the science class tomorrow evening. May I see you when it's over, Marissa? If you will tell me where you're living—”

The steamer's horn gave its last warning.

“There's no time for directions.” He trotted backward toward the dock. “Will you meet me at the hotel? At dusk tomorrow?”

She swallowed the last of her inhibition and nodded. “Yes. I'll be there.”

“Until then!” He smiled, turned and ran up the dock and onto the steamer.

She stood rooted to the spot, shocked by what she'd done. But when he'd looked at her...

“There you are, Marissa.”

She started, glanced over her shoulder.

Clarice walked up beside her and looked toward the steamer. “Was that Mr. Winston?

“Mr. Boat Man.” She laughed and hastened to change the subject, lest Clarice start taking notes for her story. She'd embarrassed herself enough. Her plunge from the rules of society would remain her guilty secret. “Are you through working for the day?”

“I am. Until I get back to the tent and put my notes in order.” Clarice waved her hand back toward the hill. “Shall we leave the throng?”

“Yes, of course.” She glanced back at the lake. The
Colonel Phillips
was rounding the point. Grant was gone. Until tomorrow night. Her pulse skipped. Her guilt swelled. She composed herself, lifted her hems and followed Clarice up the hill.

Chapter Three

H
e'd done it. He'd found Marissa Bradley. Well, truth be told, it wasn't his efforts that had brought them together tonight. Grant threw his tie over the back of the Windsor chair, sat and yanked off his shoes. His mother would say the Lord had taken a hand. He frowned, shook his head. He was a man of faith, but he was also a man of science, and that was difficult to swallow. Still...

He
had
given up. The lateness of the hour and the multiple hundreds of people sitting on the grass or milling around listening to the concert had him admitting defeat. But seeing her standing on a deserted portion of the shore was serendipitous, to say the least. His mother would, of a certainty, say it was God.

He crossed to his bed and flopped down onto his back. Marissa was beautiful. His pulse quickened. He laced his hands behind his head and stared up at the plastered ceiling, remembered the way she'd looked with the soft evening light falling on her upturned face, glowing in her blue eyes. Truly beautiful. The delicate cast of her features, the cleanly arched eyebrows over her long-lashed blue eyes, her finely molded nose and cheekbones, soft, full mouth and small, rounded chin were perfection.

He jerked to his feet and walked over to his window, opened it to the warm August night and looked toward the lake. He'd met beautiful young women before. Paid court to a few until he'd lost interest. That was what he had intended to do with Marissa Bradley—see her a few times, satisfy his curiosity about the sadness in her eyes and then say goodbye. But tonight, when he'd looked into her eyes in that first, unguarded moment, something had happened—something beyond the jolt of his heart. There'd been a
knowing
in him that was irrefutable. A sort of...
connection
he didn't understand and couldn't explain. Whatever it was, it was foolish in the light of reason and knowledge. It was also undeniable. It was still there.

He frowned, looked down at the grapevines silvered by the moonlight, turned and headed for his dressing room. He was a young, healthy man. Miss Bradley was a beautiful young woman. His was a simple physical reaction, easily explained by science. He had no reason, time or inclination to examine his response to her more fully than that. He had a busy day tomorrow with the coming harvest to prepare for. The matter of Miss Marissa Bradley would straighten itself out. The odd feeling was, no doubt, because of the circumstances of their meeting—a chance encounter in highly unlikely circumstances was intriguing. That's all it was. The attraction of mystery. He was a man who liked to find answers. The feeling would go away after his planned meeting with Marissa tomorrow night.

“Marissa...” He turned on the tap, shrugged out of his shirt and splashed water on his face. The name suited her. It was soft and beautiful and...haunting. He toweled off, tugged on his nightshirt, turned down the wick in the oil lamp and headed for bed, Marissa Bradley's name and beautiful face lingering in his mind.

* * *

Marissa tugged the quilt up closer around her chin and stared at the sloping canvas roof over her cot.

I took a chance that it was you.

A tingle ran up her spine. Grant had come to walk with her. The other meetings might have been accidental, but tonight, he'd chosen to come and spend time with her. And he wanted to see her tomorrow night. Her pulse quickened, shot energy through her. She turned onto her side, winced at the crackle of the corn husks in the mattress and glanced over at Clarice. Her tent mate was sound asleep in spite of the snores and snorts issuing from the tents around them. Nothing seemed to disturb her.

She edged closer to the side of her cot and slipped her legs out from under the covers, froze at the sound of footsteps outside their tent. She drew her legs back under the covers and waited. Moonlight threw a misshapen shadow on the canvas. She watched it float across the wall and disappear, then quickly climbed out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers. A quick flick of her wrist freed the mass of long curls she'd secured with a ribbon at the nape of her neck from beneath the collar so she could close and button the quilted gown.

Six steps took her from one side of the tent to the other. She turned, careful not to bump against the small writing desk, and walked back again. It was not very satisfactory pacing, but she couldn't stay in bed. She had to
move
. At least with the moonlight shining on the canvas she could see well enough.

Would you do me the honor of addressing me by my given name?

She frowned, fiddled with the top button on her dressing gown. Had she done the right thing when she agreed to Grant's request? And to meet him at the hotel at dusk tomorrow? Oh, what had she been
thinking
! She did not want to demean herself in Grant Winston's eyes. She wanted him to respect her. To hold her in high regard. To—her breath caught—to be attracted to her as she was to him.

She stopped, clasped her face in her hands and blew out a breath. Had she lost all common sense? She knew nothing about Grant Winston except that he was handsome and charming, polite and thoughtful and kind...And that he lived in Mayville and knew how to swim.

What if he indulged in wine or other strong drink?

The thought wouldn't be denied. It hung there in her mind. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms about herself and endured the pain of the memories that swarmed in silence. There was no room in the tent for tears.

The sadness and grief drove her back to her cot. She curled up under the covers and stared at the canvas wall. How could she have allowed herself to become so besotted by the beauty of the warm August night and her foolish, romantic dream—so enraptured by Grant's sudden appearance and charm that she forgot the promise she'd made herself—that she'd never fall in love, never marry? She knew what could happen. Her father was charming, too. Until he drank wine. And Lincoln—

She curled tighter, pressed her hand over her mouth to hold back the sobs pushing up her throat. She would meet Grant Winston at the hotel tomorrow night as she promised. And she would tell him that her lectures were to begin the following day and she would not have time to see him again. It was better...
safer
for her that way. And nothing, not even Grant Winston, must be allowed to interfere with her work, to dilute her concentration on her message.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Miss...Bradley, is it?”

Marissa looked up from the paper she held and gave the older woman coming into the small, shaded clearing a polite smile. How did the woman know her name? Her memory clicked. Ah, the teachers meeting. “Yes, Bradley is correct. How may I help you, Mrs. Austin?”

“If you wouldn't mind sharing your bench for a brief spell, my dear? The woman smiled and leaned on an ebony walking stick. “I'm afraid this hill is a little too much for me to manage in one try. I find I must pause and let my breath catch up to me every so often.”

“It is a bit steep in places. I'm sure that's the reason for these strategically placed benches.” She moved toward the end of the wood bench and pulled her skirt close. “Please sit down and rest yourself.”

Mrs. Austin sat, leaned back and sighed. “My weary body and sore feet thank you.” She gestured toward the paper with the knob of her walking stick. “I'm sorry to disturb your reading, Miss Bradley. Do go on with it. I shall remain silent.”

“No please, that's not necessary, Mrs. Austin. I will be glad of your company.” She folded the paper, looked up and smiled. “I have been studying these lecture notes all day. A break from them will be very welcome, I assure you.”

The woman nodded, leaned her walking stick against her knees and reached up to adjust the pin in her flower-bedecked hat. “There is keen interest in your lecture tomorrow afternoon, Miss Bradley. Temperance is an issue that touches us all. And people have strong opinions about it—both for and against.”

And have no trouble expressing them.
“That's certainly true.” She straightened, stared at the woman. “If I may ask, how did you know I am lecturing on temperance, Mrs. Austin? The lecturers' names are not printed on the schedules.”

“I recognized your name when you introduced yourself to me yesterday. My daughter attended a lecture you gave in Dunkirk. She wrote me all about you. She's here with me.” Mrs. Austin's blue-gray eyes focused a kindly gaze on her. “As we learned during the teachers' meeting, debate is to be encouraged after a lecture is concluded. Are you prepared for that, my dear? Your speaking engagements thus far have been to small welcoming women's church groups. That will not be the case here. These lectures are open to all, men
and
women. And temperance is such a volatile subject.”

“Yes...”
What if the debate got out of hand?
What if she couldn't handle it?
She drew a breath, opened the drawstring on her purse and slipped her notes inside.

Mrs. Austin reached over and rested her gloved hand on hers. “It was not my intent to discomfort you when I proposed your name to John as a worthy speaker on temperance, my dear. But now, since I've met you, well...you look so young, close to my daughter's age. Please forgive this meddlesome old woman for putting you in a position that may be...upsetting.”

So it was Mrs. Austin who had recommended her.
“There's no need, Mrs. Austin.” She tamped down her nerves and pulled up a smile. “I thank you for telling Dr. Austin about me—for gaining me the opportunity to spread the temperance message to so many people. And I appreciate your thoughtfulness in warning me of possible unpleasantness during a debate. But I have faced irate saloon owners and their equally angry patrons and survived. I am sure I will survive the lectures and debates here at Chautauqua, as well.”
And the protest she was to lead?

“Here you are, Mother. I despaired of finding you. It's time you returned to our tent for supper.”

Marissa turned her head, looked at a young woman who stood at the edge of the clearing, her back to the people walking on the path behind her. She took in the young woman's cowed posture, the shawl draped around her thin shoulders though the day was warm, the downward cast of her eyes. She looked closer, gripped her hands together.

Mrs. Austin stirred beside her. “I'm coming, Rose. I've been resting here with Miss Bradley. You remember her from—”

“Yes, of course I do, Mother.”

The young woman gave her a polite nod and a shy smile but made no effort to come closer. It wouldn't have mattered. She could see the fading bruise beneath Rose's blue-gray eyes so like Mrs. Austin's—except for the shadow of fear in them. Her heart squeezed. She smiled and nodded a return greeting, remained seated despite her desire to go and put her arms about the young woman. It was obvious Rose was uncomfortable and only wanted to leave. How well she understood Rose's need to hide. She reached up and touched her mother's pendant watch, closed her fingers around it.

“I will be praying for you, Miss Bradley.” Mrs. Austin gripped her walking stick, rose and looked down at her. The older woman's face was taut, her eyes overbright. “May the Lord bless you for what you are doing on behalf of women everywhere, Miss Bradley. And may He give you courage and strength as you carry on.”

Her throat swelled. Her chest tightened. “Thank you, Mrs. Austin.” She smiled and rose to her feet. “I hope we meet again before the Chautauqua classes are over and we all go our separate ways.”

“Oh, you may rely on that, Miss Bradley.” The older woman's eyes flashed, her mouth firmed. “Rose and I will both be attending your lectures.
And
taking part in the after debates. A woman can stay silent only so long! Good evening.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Austin.” She resumed her seat on the bench and waited while Mrs. Austin and her daughter joined the flow of people going up the hill.

Debate is to be encouraged after a lecture is concluded...temperance is such a volatile subject...

Her stomach knotted. She took a breath and straightened, ran her fingers over the smooth enamel of her mother's watch. Her mother had eyes like Rose's—except they were green. Once they had sparkled with laughter; now they were shadowed with grief and fear.

Don't go to Chautauqua, Marissa. Please don't go. Stop this insane traveling around to strange towns to speak about temperance. You cannot bring Lincoln back, and you may be hurt!

The memory of her mother's plea brought the answer she hadn't given bursting forth in a furious whisper. “What does it matter if I am made uncomfortable, or even injured, Mother? It is far less than you and other women like you suffer! And if it helps to stop young men like Lincoln from wasting or losing their lives—” Her voice broke on a sob. She spun about so those walking on the path couldn't see, covered her face with her hands and waited for the pain to ease.

Muted chatter and laughter came from the people on the path. Birds twittered. A chipmunk rustled through the dry fallen leaves looking for provender. She drank in the peace, absorbed the strength of it into her heart. The tears on her cheeks dried. She clasped her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.

“Lord, please help me when I speak tomorrow evening and the days following. Please don't let me disappoint Mrs. Austin and Rose and all of the other women who are ashamed or afraid and need someone to speak for them. Please let these lectures bring them comfort and strength in the knowledge that they are not alone. And please let them steer young men like Lincoln away from paths of destruction. Amen.”

Fresh dedication to the temperance cause erased her fears and strengthened her determination. She opened her eyes and glanced up at the sky. The light was beginning to fade. But there was still time to go to the tent and freshen up before going to the hotel to meet Grant Winston.

She rose and shook out the skirt of her plum gown, closing her mind to the question of why freshening her appearance should matter when she was only going to tell Grant goodbye.