Argosy Junction (17 page)

“You’re avoiding the word marriage. Is there a reason for that?” Warren had a way of cutting to the heart of an issue just when you thought you’d managed to avoid it.

Lane didn’t answer for some time. Each listened to the sound of the other’s breathing and waited for Lane to answer the question. Finally, Lane took a deep breath and sighed. “Because marriage means change, but I want it.”

“You want marriage or you want marriage to Matt?”

“Both. Isn’t that the most immature silly thing you’ve ever heard me say? It’s ridiculous—”

“Your mother was eighteen when I married her. Was she ridiculous?” Warren’s voice was steady and understanding. His wife listened to his side of the conversation with wide eyes and unsettled heart. “Carrie was nineteen when she married Peter. Was that a mistake? Forget the
Brethren
. Was marrying who she wanted to marry a mistake? Do you think she regrets it?”

Another sniffle escaped. “I feel like a little girl playing grown up games.”

“Then come home, Lane. We’re not trying to get rid of you. Come home; keep writing him, and maybe next year—”

Lane’s groan stopped him. “I don’t want to wait another year to see him again. Two and a half months was so long… “

“Then quit second-guessing yourself. You’re old enough to know your own mind. I know Matt. I trust him. He won’t play head games with you, and that’s what matters to me almost more than anything else.”

“I know. He was attracted to me before he even came to stay with us, but he never said anything.” A fresh round of sniffles prompted a dash for the box in the bathroom.

“I knew he was, and I respected him for it. If he’d have tried to say anything then, I would have pounded him.”

“He’s a Christian.”

She heard her father’s sharp intake of breath and could visualize the way his jaw must have clenched before he said, “Then he is proof that real ones still exist. Maybe he’s strong enough to resist the pull of Christian peer pressure. I wasn’t, but maybe Matt has it in him.”

“We’re going to church with him tomorrow.” Lane could sense the change in the atmosphere between them.

“Look, Lane, I’m not going to tell you to go or not to go. I
am
going to remind you to be careful. I can’t imagine Matt would ever lead you anywhere that could take you down another path like the
Brethren
, but I can’t be objective on this one. If you want to go, go. Just be careful.”

Lane tossed and turned for a good hour before she gave up, padded into the sitting area, and retrieved the letters from her purse. She’d read them again with fresh eyes no longer clouded with anger and pain. She had at least two more weeks with Matt. It wasn’t enough to know for life, but it would be a strong indicator.

She opened the first letter and read,

Dear Lane,

Everything I’ve tried to write sounds melodramatic. When I stopped by to say goodbye today, it was the hardest thing I could imagine doing. I kicked myself all the way out to your ranch. If I wasn’t so stubborn and angry at Josiah Gideon, I wouldn’t have put myself in a place to leave. I have never felt such gratitude and relief as I did when your father invited me to stay. I think he knows how attracted I am to you, and he took pity on me.

Do you know how I feel about you? I don’t think you do. I’ve tried to keep my actions completely platonic, but it isn’t easy. I find myself letting down my guard when I need most to keep it firm. I won’t play with your affections. I’m probably crazy to imagine that you’d give them. After just a few hours… it is crazy.  Crazy good, but crazy.

Well, if I’m going to be any use to your father, I’m going to have to sleep.

Goodnight Lane,

Matt

She read several sentences over again before slipping the letter back into its envelope and opening the next.

Dear Lane,

You fascinate me. Every day I hope to find that it’s just some crazy infatuation that makes my heart pound when you’re around. Do you hear it? You don’t seem to. You whack me with your hat, and I want to grab it. I feel like a little kid on the school grounds who likes the girl, but doesn’t know how to show it, so he takes her cupcake or her lunchbox and runs away. She has to chase him if she wants it back so she does. If I stole your hat, would you chase me?

I try to imagine you in my city, and I can’t. You are such a part of this place that it hurts. I can’t see you anywhere, but here, and I belong in Rockland. I guess that’s why I’m writing letters that I’ll never send to a girl I can’t have.

Torn,

Matt

The next two were written after hard days of sheep shearing. Matt’s attraction grew with each letter and it showed. Each page showed a progression to genuine caring over mere interest. The one he wrote the night before he returned to Rockland wrung her heart.

Dear Lane,

I so want to put “my” in front of that salutation. I leave tomorrow, but I don’t want to go. I feel guilty when I think of my parents and how excited they are to hear about my trip, but all I can think of is that I won’t see you on Friday morning. I won’t wake up and hear your laughter or see you smile or pray that your hand touches mine when you pass me the biscuits.

Did you know I do that? I’ll miss just knowing it could happen. I’ll also miss saddling your horse. I know you can do it, and you’re much faster than I am, but it’s a guy thing like checking oil in your car or squishing a spider.

I so wish I could tell you what I’m thinking. I want so badly to tell you how much I love watching you with Patience. You’re such a good big sister. I know you’ll be a wonderful mother. I—I can’t even write what’s in my heart. Maybe I’m afraid you’ll find these before I can get home or maybe I’m afraid that when I get home I’ll discover that attraction and infatuation can appear as emotions of light. Maybe you can think you’re in love when it’s just loneliness and appreciation.

I don’t want to go. I’d give anything for you to ask me to stay, but you won’t. I couldn’t stay anyway, but I still wish you’d ask me not to go.

Leaving part of my heart here… with you,

Matt

The tone of Matt’s letters changed once he got home. After he received Lane’s first letter, he wrote again. This was the letter that had so thoroughly surprised and angered her.

Dear Lane,

Two thousand miles is just too far. How will I stand to be here for the next nine months, when you’re there? I can’t leave work again until January. What is Montana like in January? I wonder.

I’d hoped my feelings for you would go away when I got home. All the way on the plane, I tried to distance my heart from you. I thought of my parents, my job, my church—

Oh, how I thought of my church. I thought of your reaction when you found out I go to church, believe in God, and trust Jesus for my salvation. I reminded myself of how much you despise all that I hold most dear. Well, almost all. I couldn’t quite eject you from that list.

Your letters are going to torture me. So, what do I do? I go searching for your family’s website so I can write more often and faster. How can someone I’ve known for such a short time, mean so much to me? How can I know someone so well who I know so little?

Where do I go from here?

Matt

What young woman wouldn’t thrill to read something so endearing? Matt’s letters were filled with uncertainty, dreams, and a desire to share his heart. Lane flipped through them until the last one written the night before she arrived.

Oh Lane,

You’re almost here. Will everything be as it was, or will I discover that I’ve built a dream in my heart that can never materialize? Is your heart sealed against me or can it be opened? Is it possible that it is already open and waiting, or do you have it barred and locked?

I want nothing more than to talk about all of this, but then I think of me in Rockland and you in Montana and wonder if it is fair to either of us to say anything. You’re so young and yet—I love you. How is that possible? I still don’t understand it. I try to convince myself that it won’t last, but I know I’m kidding myself. I am so close to ready to make the sacrifices necessary to make it work. I think it is not knowing if you. Ack. I can’t even write it, and what I write doesn’t make sense. It’s a wonderful thing that you’ll probably never read these. If you did, I’d never have a chance.

Counting hours, minutes, and seconds,

Matt

A less pragmatic young woman might have been overwhelmed, or worse, emotionally manipulated by the letters. Matt had taken a large risk, calculated as it was, in assuming he knew Lane’s personality well enough to trust her with his raw and uncensored emotions. The ball was in Lane’s court, and yet, Matt seemed ready to take it again once she knew where she wanted him to run with it.

She finally drifted to sleep wondering if she could leave her family for Matt. Was her answer the proof in whether she was ready to take that plunge? If she couldn’t choose Matt and his noisy dirty city over her family and the Montana mountainside she’d always known, was it the evidence she needed to know that she was just too young to know her own mind or was it a natural thing to prefer the familiar even if you loved some part of the new?

Ten

Sunday morning was a flurry of preparations for church. Patience fairly bounced from bed to couch and back to bed again. Lane unbraided her hair carefully and brushed it until it shone. Then, she used a curling iron and curled the ends of Patience’s hair under giving it a naturally wavy look. Thankful she’d grabbed a white headband, Lane slipped it over Patience’s head and tucked it carefully behind her ears.

“There. You look adorable! I like those shoes with that dress.”

Patience rushed to look at herself in the large mirror over the dresser. “It’s cute. I’ve never had a naughty girl dress before. I wonder why they call it that.”

“Nautical Patience. Like boats and ships and things. Navy. Sailor. Not naughty girl.” Lane stifled a snicker as she slipped into the bathroom to dress. She couldn’t wait to share that one with Matt.

Though she rarely wore cosmetics, Lane was determined to look her best. She carefully applied eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. With a steady hand, she blushed her cheeks and added a touch of lipstick. To her dismay, the color was much brighter than it appeared in the tube. Lane wiped it off quickly, but it stained her lips just the right shade. Shrugging her shoulders, she dug out her trusty tub of Carmex and added a light coating over her lips and stood back to see the effect.

Satisfied that her face would do, she went to work on her hair. Carrie had always envied Lane’s hair. Stick straight; it fell in silky strands looking like a shampoo commercial. However, unlike most straight hair, it curled and held a curl beautifully with just a touch of a curling iron. Within minutes, Lane’s hair hung in bouncy waves.

She wrapped a scarf around her head to keep the strands out of her face and surveyed the results.

Once dressed, she stepped from the bathroom wearing a bohemian skirt and coordinating gauze blouse and camisole. The whole camisole-meant-to-be-seen-look had taken her by surprise, but once on, she didn’t feel like she was showing her underwear like she’d thought she would. The lace-up sandals she’d bought to wear with the outfit would have to do. Lane mentally cringed at the looks she’d probably get over them, but forced herself not to think about it.

“Time to go. Why don’t you grab that Bible in the drawer?”

“We can’t steal a Bible, Lane! That’s twice as bad as stealing anything else!”

Patience’s shocked face was priceless. Lane reached for the Bible herself and shooed her little sister out the door as she explained. “The Bible is there for us to use. We’ll bring it back and leave it here when we’re done. Oh, and no, it isn’t worse to steal a Bible than any other thing. Stealing is stealing and all of it is equally wrong.”

“Well, it
feels
wronger. More wrong. Something like that.”

As the elevator slowly dropped them to the lobby, Patience looked at her new watch and then at Lane. “Isn’t it too early? I thought you said Matt was coming at nine-thirty. It’s only eight-thirty.”

“Do you not want to eat breakfast?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m hungry. I want those Belgium Waffles again.”

~*~*~*~

When Matt entered the lobby, he saw Lane and Patience sitting on a sofa doing hand games in a quiet singsong. Several of the hotel guests watched amused as they grew faster and faster. A lump grew in Matt’s throat as Lane tossed her curled hair out of her way and stepped up the speed once more. He could hear her throaty laughter from across the room.

“Gotcha!” Patience clapped her hand over her mouth, but not before a few of the guests clapped in appreciation.

Lane saw him and waved. “Hey! You’re early.”

“Hi, Matt! Lane curled my hair and let me wear my—my—” She turned to Lane in a stage whisper and said, “What kind of dress is it again?”

“Nautical.”

“I knew naugahyde wasn’t right.”

Lane and Matt exchanged amused glances as they exited the hotel. Patience skipped along the sidewalk ahead of them while Matt and Lane strolled lazily behind, talking.

“You’re a fast shopper. I didn’t even see you looking at skirts.”

“I know what I like in skirts. I can pick one out and know if it’ll fit or look right, but outside of jeans from the L.L. Bean catalog, I don’t know how to buy pants. I’ve never owned any, but jeans before.”

Matt didn’t know how to compliment her. She looked beautiful, but to say so might imply that he didn’t always appreciate her appearance. Lane saw the inner turmoil and nudged him. “It’s acceptable to say a girl looks nice. It doesn’t mean that he thinks she usually looks awful.”