Pieces of Dreams (2 page)

“I thought that was Conrad,” Esther said, referring to the twin brother of Melly's fiancé.

“I'll have to say it sounds the kind of thing Conrad would do,” Sarah Franks said with a thoughtful look in her rich turquoise eyes. “He did have a gallant way about him.”

“Still does, I'd say,” Esther agreed. “Just look at the way he sent the silk for Melly's wedding dress. Amazing, to think of him picking out such lovely stuff in far-off Cathay and sent it all the way across the sea.”

“It would have been more to the point if he had brought it himself,” Biddy said. “
And
come to his brother's wedding.”

“A ship’s captain in the China tea trade can't do just what he wants, Biddy.” Sarah’s tone was one of quiet reason.

“Anyway,” Lydia said, “I know Caleb gave Melly his piece of apple pie at the last home-coming at the church because I saw him.”

“Yes, and he gave her his hat to use for a fan at the revival the other night when it was so stifling hot we were all about to swoon.”

“I forgot my fan,” Melly said. “And Caleb said he didn't care for the apple pie.”

Sarah laughed. “Well, that was a bold-faced lie, because I saw your Aunt Dora put a piece big enough for two men on his plate not ten minutes before.”

“No wonder he was so generous, then!” Lydia's golden-brown eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“Anybody who works as hard as Caleb needs a lot of nourishment,” Sarah said soothingly. “It was still good of him to give up a treat for Melly.”

Esther waved her needle in Sarah's direction. “You ask me, he works too hard. He used to be a lot of fun, back before Conrad went off to sea. Now he's turning into a drudge without two words to say for himself.”

“Don't you think that's natural?” Melly looked across the quilt with an earnest smile in her dark eyes. “Caleb has a lot on his mind with the farm, the new house, and the responsibilities ahead of him.”

“All I'm saying is, you'd think he'd act happier about the whole thing.”

Melly had to agree that Caleb had been rather solemn of late. Still, he had always been known as the steadfast, dependable twin; that was his strength. She said, “He's happy in his own way, I'm sure of it. He's just quieter about it than … well, than Conrad used to be.”

“Who wants cookies with the next round of lemonade?”

That cheerful call came from the doorway leading from the back of the house into the front parlor where they were working. It was Aunt Dora, bustling in with a platter of gingersnaps in one hand and a new pitcher of frothy lemonade in the other. Her gray-streaked blonde hair curled in wiry tendrils from the bun on top of her head and her round face was flushed from the heat of the outdoor kitchen where she had been baking in the relative cool of the evening. She set her burdens down on a side table and wiped her hands on her apron, then began to refill glasses.

“Did I hear somebody mention Conrad? Mercy me, but that boy was a scamp! Enough to give trouble a bad name, he was, but such a charmer that a body really hadn't the heart to scold. I recall the time he put a bucket of water up the apple tree outside my window so Mr. Prine got a regular drenching when he came prowling around on Saturday night. Dampened the man's ardor for a good two weeks, it did!”

Mr. Seymour Prine was a long-time resident at the boarding house run by Melly's aunt. He was also a suitor of many years standing. But as the Widow Bennington had a fierce dislike of indulgence in strong liquor, so long as Mr. Seymour got drunk every Saturday night, the pair seemed destined to remain apart. It was a shame, really. Mr. Prine was as quiet and pleasant-spoken a gentleman as anyone could expect from Monday through Friday: neat and clean in his habits, angular of frame, with upright posture and a fine head of silver hair, highly respected as a teller at the bank down on Main Street. But on Saturday night he wended his way to the riverfront saloons. There he had a few, then a few more. By midnight he was back at the boarding house outside Aunt Dora's window, where he stood with his hat held over his heart while he spouted stanza after endless stanza of
The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
—with special emphasis on those parts concerning wine and amorous dalliance. Aunt Dora was scandalized. Or pretended to be.

“Poor Mr. Prine,” Sarah said.

“Poor Mr. Prine, my eye!” Aunt Dora set a fist on her ample hip. “The idiot man just stood there dripping and moaning about drowning his glory in a shallow cup!”

Esther winked at Melly as she joined Sarah in teasing the older woman. “But only think how faithful he's been.”

“Yes, and think of how convenient it is that his bed and his lady-love are in the same place.”

A wicked smile tilted Esther's wide, mobile mouth. “Dear me, Aunt Dora, you don't mean—”

“I do not!” the older woman fumed, her blue eyes snapping. “Which is a fact you know very well, Miss Priss! It will be a cold day in Hades before that whiskey-soaked galoot winds up in my bed. The very idea! I've a good mind to take my gingersnaps straight back to the kitchen.”

“No, no, don't do that, dear Aunt Dora,” Lydia cried. “You know she didn't mean anything.”

“What Lydia is trying to say,” Melly interpreted with a laugh, “is that she's starving, as usual. I'm sure everyone will be nice as you please in return for a cookie.”

“Well, that's all and good, but it's a man she should be trying to please, along with all the rest of you.”

“Like you?” Esther inquired, the picture of innocence as she met the older woman's gaze.

“I had a man once, God rest his soul, and don't need another one.”

“Nor I,” Biddy said in near inaudible tones.

There was a brief and sympathetic silence. They were all well aware that Biddy's young husband had been struck by lightning as he plowed in the field only months after they were wed. That had been over two years ago, but she still wore black.

Then there was Sarah. Though she never spoke of it, and did not now, she had also lost her man. She and a young carpenter named Theodore Frazier had been engaged a few years back, but Theo had stepped on a nail while repairing a barn and died, agonizingly, of lockjaw. Since then, Sarah had devoted herself to her father and brothers, and to nurturing her roses and herbs and her flock of chickens.

“Yes, well,” Aunt Dora said, clearing her throat. “You're all still young and prime for loving, regardless, and there's no reason you shouldn't find it like Melly here.” Her eyes took on a sudden brightness. Abruptly, she turned and set down her pitcher. “Hold on, now. You've just put me in mind of a way to maybe help things along. I'll be right back!” Her skirts jerked and swayed as she bustled off in the direction of the kitchen.

The young women looked at each other, mystified and a little wary. Melly pushed her chair back from the quilting frame and rose to fetch the cookie platter. “I don't know what Aunt Dora's up to,” she said as she began to pass them around, “but we can't let good gingersnaps go to waste while we find out, now can we?”

She was back in her chair, brushing cookie crumbs from her mouth while leaning carefully away from the quilt top, when her aunt returned. As she saw the kitten in the older woman's arms her brows lifted. Aunt Dora paid no attention.

“All right, ladies, gather close around the quilting frame now, and push all the needles through and underneath out of the way,” the older woman called with a wave of her free hand. “What we're going to try is a tradition handed down from my grannie, one that maybe came from the old country in years gone by. The saying goes that if you drop a cat onto the quilt frame at a quilting bee, then the girl it runs to will be the next to marry. Yes, and the first man through the door will be her groom.”

“But that's not a cat, only one of Vanilla's kittens,” Melly protested.

“Looks mighty like a cat to me,” Aunt Dora said, holding the mewling kitten up to her face and rubbing noses affectionately. “Besides, a big one like Vanilla might claw the silk, and we can't have that. Now ladies, are you ready?”

Esther tilted her head. “What if the first man through the door should be Mr. Prine?”

“Then I pity the bride,” Aunt Dora said shortly. “Enough sass. Here we go!”

Stepping to the frame on the side opposite Melly, she held the kitten above the center of the half-finished quilt, letting it dangle bonelessly for a few seconds. Then she dropped it.

The small cat landed spraddle-legged, looking startled and annoyed as the quilt bounced and sagged in the middle. Gathering itself with immense dignity, it patted the starburst under it, then took a tentative step.

“Call to it, girls,” Aunt Dora directed. “Come on, now. You have to do your part if you want it to be a fair trial.”

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Sarah cajoled, obliging as always.

“Over here, cat,” Esther said, trying not to laugh.

Biddy eyed it askance. “Don't let that creature come near me or I'll start to sneeze and won't quit till doomsday.”

“Sweet little kitty,” Lydia crooned with a grin and a competitive glance at the others. “Come here, darling bitty kitty. Over here, come to Lydia.”

The cat sat down and started to lick a paw.

A gust of giggles and half-smothered jeers greeted the performance. Melly looked toward her aunt with humor flashing bright in the black-eyed-Susan-brown of her eyes. She made no effort to coax the kitten herself, of course, since she knew perfectly well when she would be married, and to whom. “Now what?”

“Call it again,” Aunt Dora urged the others as she placed her fists on her hips. Her frown was earnest, as if she actually expected the kitten to foretell the future happiness of at least one of their number.

They did as suggested, except for Biddy who made shooing motions in the direction of the others with her small hands. The kitten looked up from its ablutions and pricked its ears, but made no move to leave its seat.

“Oh, dear,” Lydia moaned in mock dismay. “Does this mean we're all hopeless?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Melly said bracingly. “It's my belief you're all trying to avoid your fate. Call him as if you mean it!”

At the sound of Melly's voice, the kitten blinked and turned his head in her direction. Then as if executing a tiresome duty, the small animal rose and glided into a dainty walk, picking its way over silk and satin and the gold featherstitching that outlined the connecting seams of the squares. At once, the bridesmaids renewed their giggling, cajoling efforts.

The kitten paid no attention. It did not hesitate, did not pause, but made its way straight to Melly. Dropping into a crouch in front of her, it launched into a graceful leap. As she caught it in her arms, it climbed up to snuggle into the tender curve of her neck. Immediately, it began to purr.

“Hey! No fair!” Lydia cried.

Biddy made a sound of mild disgust. “What can you expect? The silly thing belongs to Melly, after all.”

“She is definitely going to be married, you'll have to give the cat that much,” Sarah pointed out on a throaty chuckle.

At that moment, the front door swung open. The young women turned as one to see who had arrived. Their lively chatter died away into sudden, breathless silence.

The man who stepped into the room was tall and broad and bronzed, with hair so bleached by the sun that it had the color and sheen of spun gold. Standing relaxed and four-square in the doorway, he appeared as sure of his welcome as a conquering Caesar. As he saw the women staring at him, his blue eyes took on a brilliant sheen of merriment while a slow grin curved his mouth.

“Caleb!” Melly cried. Driven by amazement for the opportune arrival, she lowered the kitten to the quilt, pushed back her chair, and sprang up. Then, laughing, she ran to fling herself into her fiancé’s arms.

A soft grunt of surprise left him as he caught her against his chest. An instant later, his blue gaze turned smoky with the rise of desire. His firm lips parted for a quiet oath, then he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.

It was like stepping into a whirlwind, a spinning fury of the senses. Melly's lips tingled, heating with the contact. Her heart seemed to stop. She felt buffeted, storm-tossed, lost in a delirium of sheer, pulsating magic. Dimly she was aware of the parlor, her aunt, her friends, but they did not seem to matter. All that had being or reason was the warm, hard arms around her and the sweet, tender taste of the man who held her so close to his heart.

“Melly!”

That voice. Her name, spoken in syllables that held accusation, disbelief, disapproval. Yes, and pain.

It was the last that reached her. The pain.

She pushed free, stepped back, though she had to hold to the arms of the man she had just greeted for balance. Turning her head slowly, she stared at the person who had called to her, the man who now moved from behind the first to enter and then stopped at his side.

It was the same as seeing double. There were two of them, two men of devastating power and appearance, two men dangerously alike.

And the second, the latecomer, was Caleb, her future husband.

Melly's heart sank, shivering inside her, as she saw what she had done. The first man through the door had been Conrad. It was the second who had called her name.

She had kissed the wrong twin brother.