The Fragrance of Her Name (11 page)

“
Now, I want you in bed, too. You look like the devil!” Lauryn’s mother told her.

“
Well, thank you,” Lauryn giggled.

“
You know what I mean. Now, tomorrow we are gonna have some time to talk, me and you. How I’ve missed you, my sugar plum.” Again Georgia embraced her daughter. It was the kind of hug that speaks of need, love, loss and relief and Lauryn was glad again that she was home.

As tired as she was, as filled to throbbing as her head was with trying to sort out the events of the day, Lauryn could not seem to fall asleep. She listened as the clock struck eleven and then midnight. She thought about calling for the Captain. He would keep her company. But somehow she could not keep her thoughts from turning to Brant. Was he warm? Dreaming good things? What did he know that might help her to find Lauralynn? Did he need anything? Her mind was completely busy with worry and concern and curiosity about him. And she knew...she knew that she would not be able to rest until she’d checked in on him. Until she’d made certain he was comfortable in a place so strange to him.

How thankful she was when the door opened silently, that the hinges of the guestroom door didn’t squeak like Patrick’s door did. Of course, the guestroom door wasn’t slammed shut and flung open with the strength of the Titans every five minutes like Patrick’s was.

Silently Lauryn walked to Brant’s bed. The fire had died down but its embers glowed warmly enough to provide sufficient light for viewing a sleeping person. The room felt chilled, however, and Lauryn was disturbed when she approached Brant to see him lying on his back, hands tucked beneath his head and quilts pushed down nearly to his waist. She wondered for a moment, Was she disturbed because Brant might be chilled with a lack of quilts covering his torso or was she disturbed because the sight of him bare from the waist up was very…disturbing?

For Pete’s sake
, she thought. His shoulders were nearly as broad as the small bed was wide. His upper arms were as thick as some of the tree limbs on the old maple and, even relaxed and sleeping, the muscles of his chest were solid and perfectly sculpted. Realizing she was far too intrigued with studying him thus, Lauryn knew it would definitely be the wise thing to adjust his quilts…to keep him warm, of course. So carefully, as not to wake him, Lauryn began to pull his coverings up over his stomach.

She was startled when his hand rose suddenly and caught her wrist. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. His hand slid from her wrist to clasp her hand loosely.

“
Laura?” he whispered. For a moment, Lauryn’s mind considered remaining silent, in order to see what else he would say if he, indeed, assumed she was Lauralynn. Quickly she reconsidered, however, realizing she might not want to know for some reason.

“
No. It’s me,” she whispered in response.

“
Oh,” he grumbled, immediately releasing her hand and tugging the covers up himself. He tucked the hems of his sheet and quilt over his chest, folding his arms across its broad expanse. Lauryn felt awkward. It was obvious he was self-conscious, uncomfortable with her being there.

“
Do you have everythin’ you need?” she ventured. How she hoped, prayed that he wouldn’t inquire as to what she was doing sneaking into his room at such a late hour.

“
You mean, in this room…to help me to sleep comfortably?” he asked. Lauryn understood all too well his implication. There was an undertone of bitterness in his voice, and she was certain he was thinking of his loss of sight. Had he been lying awake as she had? Had he, however, been lamenting his condition? His dependent situation?

“
Are you warm enough?” she stammered.

“
Yeah,” he mumbled.

“
Well, then,” she said quietly, turning to leave. “I’ll just…”

“
How old were you?” he asked, unexpectedly.

“
How old was I?” Lauryn wasn’t sure what he meant.

“
When you first saw him…your Captain? How old were you? I can’t remember what age you told me you were.” Brant sat up in his bed, tucking the covers around his waist and folding his arms across his chest again. He looked expectant. As if he were ready for a lengthy conversation. And suddenly, Lauryn was exhilarated by the prospect of spending time alone with him, in the dead of night, in intimate, verbal correspondence.

“
I was eight,” she answered. “It was my eighth birthday…the day I first met him.”

“
That’s right,” he mumbled. He seemed pensive about her answer. “I was about four maybe and in the attic playing with my wooden soldiers. A breeze blew through and…and there was this…this fragrance…heavy, sweet, intoxicating. I turned and there she stood.”

“
I was in the attic, too!” Lauryn exclaimed in a hushed voice. For her mother and Nana slept in rooms just across the hall. “I was looking through Lauralynn’s trunk and…”

“
Her trunk? You’ve seen her things?” Brant interrupted. “Touched them?” He was alert, wildly interested. Lauryn’s excitement was growing as well. Brant had been on that train for a reason. Call it fate or divine intervention, but she knew it to be true. And now, after such a long day, after such a long journey…they were beginning. Beginning to share information about the greatest mystery to ever evade solving in both of their families.

“
Her weddin’ dress is in there. And a tintype of her and the Captain,” Lauryn offered.

Brant smiled and repeated, “Her weddin’ dress?” He had mimicked Lauryn’s accent and now she felt ashamed of it.

“
Her wedd
ing
dress, I meant to say,” she corrected herself humbly.

“
No, no, Miss Kensington. Don’t you change the way you speak,” he told her. “It’s cute and sweet. It’s you.” Lauryn didn’t know what to say. It was hard to respond to such a compliment. If it was a compliment. Brant patted his bed at his side. “Sit down. Let’s sort it out.”

Lauryn’s excitement over the prospect of gleaning information from Brant overcame her shyness at sitting at the foot of his bed, both of them scarcely dressed for visiting. She plopped down ready to fire questions at him.

“
Did she scare you at first?” she asked.

“
A bit. She looked very lost and frightened and there were the stains at her abdomen. But, she was so beautiful and sweet, and smelled so good that I wasn’t afraid for long.” Brant grinned a bit and asked, “And you? Did he scare you?”

“
No. Not really,” Lauryn answered. “He was kind, and he bent down to look me in the eye. And, I knew who he was already because I’d seen his likeness in the tintype.” It seemed natural that it should be her turn to ask something. “How did you communicate with her if she couldn’t talk to you?”

Brant shrugged. “I watched her lips or she made gestures.” He paused for a moment before going on. “She was always, always there when I needed her. She’d sit with me during the night if I were anxious. She’d stroke my hair and teach me songs to play on the piano.”

Lauryn looked away from Brant to the dying embers of the fire. “The Captain has been my best friend, too. He taught me so much…helped me feel confident. Like I could accomplish things. But…” Lauryn stammered.

“
But you’ve failed him,” Brant finished for her. It wasn’t a cruel remark. It was how she felt. And it was, no doubt, how he felt.

“
But I can’t fail him. I can’t,” Lauryn whispered.

“
You won’t.” Brant turned his face toward the hearth as well. “I’ll…I’ll help you as much as I can while I’m here. I don’t know what I have to offer…maybe the more we talk…maybe there’s something I know that you don’t. Something that will help you.” He shook his head, discouraged and added, “Maybe.”

Reflexively Lauryn reached out and placed her hand comfortingly over his. “I’m positive you do know somethin’. Why else would we have met today?”

“
Why else, indeed,” Brant mumbled, forcing an agreeing nod and simultaneously pulling his hand away from Lauryn’s.

How sweet she is, this little girl from the southern town of Franklin, Tennessee,
Brant thought. How eternally, and somewhat naively, hopeful. If he’d met her as a sighted man, before the war…but there was no use in thinking of ‘what ifs.’ He would help her all he could. He would help her because he realized it was up to Lauryn to help Laura now. He’d faced the reality for sometime that, when he returned home, he would no longer be able to converse with Laura. Along with his sight, he’d lost his only means of communicating with Lauralynn. He could do nothing more to comfort her or help her to be found. That knowledge had eaten at his soul more fiercely than the actual loss of his sight most times. He couldn’t bear the thought of Laura wandering lost and alone forever.

But maybe Heaven still cared for Brant Masterson. It had sent this sweet girl, Lauryn, to mend the past...sent her to fix what Brant wasn’t capable of fixing anymore, thereby giving him some sort of peace. Still, her touch was too friendly, too enjoyable and Brant knew he must look like an escapee from an asylum. He hadn’t been to a barber in months…hadn’t been able to labor very hard physically or participate in much of any other activity to keep his body strong and healthy. And, it was far to disconcerting to have people touching him when he couldn’t see the expression on their faces. He imagined Lauryn grimaced each time she saw his unkempt appearance.

Still, he determined at that very moment to spend his week at the fabled Connemara House talking with Lauryn Kensington. He’d spend it trying to help her solve the puzzle of Laura’s disappearance. Maybe then there would be something to feel good about. Something that proved his worth in the world.

Lauryn clutched her hands together uncomfortably. Her mother had always warned her that not everyone was at ease with affection or friendly gestures that involved physical contact. Even the slightest hint of intimacy unnerved some. But it bothered Lauryn greatly that Brant seemed so against receiving her sympathy or friendship. She wanted him to trust her, to talk to her, to let her help him. But she also realized it must be incredibly difficult for him to accept those things from anyone, especially someone as recent to his acquaintance as Lauryn. No doubt, he’d been quite independent before the injury to his eyes. She knew that she must be patient and strong. She mustn’t let his moodiness or his being irritated with her deter her from discovering everything he knew about Lauralynn.

“
So, tomorrow, when you’re a bit more rested…” Lauryn ventured.

“
I’ll tell you everything about her that I know, now. And you don’t need to wait until tomorrow to ask me.” He turned his face in her direction once more and seemed to be waiting for her to begin her questioning.

Lauryn was completely undone! Where to begin? It was impossible to know what might be important. “Tell me again…what is she wearing?” she asked, finally.

Brant nodded. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by her inquiry. “A blue dress, white sleeves. A gold locket on a black ribbon around her neck…it has a little likeness of Brandon in it.” He paused and seemed to be searching his memory for more details. “A wedding band and an amethyst ring on the other hand. Simple shoes…but…”

“
Yes?” Lauryn prodded when he stopped.

“
The hem of her skirt…” he continued. “I never thought about it before…it’s stained. Mud maybe. A dark stain…yeah, mud I guess.”

“
Is she very beautiful?” Lauryn asked in a whisper. “I mean, still?”

“
Hell, yes!” Brant exclaimed. Then seemed to remember the presence of a lady and corrected himself. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Yes. She’s beautiful. She hasn’t changed at all in over fifty years I suppose. As beautiful as the day she died.”

Lauryn smiled, rather oddly amused by his swearing in her presence and delighted that he should feel so inclined to apologize. But somehow it bothered Lauryn that Brant should be so adamant about Laura’s beauty. So determined about its foreverness. Lauryn had seen paintings and old photographs of Lauralynn and…well, she must admit it to herself, her great-aunt was beautiful.

Suddenly Lauryn felt very tired. Her mind couldn’t think clearly at such a late hour and she stood up from the bed. “You’ll talk to me some more tomorrow?” she asked. She half expected him to growl,
“NO!”
at her. But he nodded instead. “Good night then, Mr. Masterson.”

“
Good night, Lauryn,” he mumbled. “And thank you for your concern about my comfort,” he added just before she opened his door to leave.

“
You’re welcome.” And somehow sleep did come to her then. Once Lauryn was warm in her bed, she found her mind at ease, calm and able to rest. It wasn’t until the birds in the trees outside her bedroom window began their morning song rehearsal that she awoke again.

“
And over here,” Lauryn explained as she carefully led Brant toward the aged building, “Is the old springhouse.” Brant had seemed very interested when Nana had suggested after breakfast that morning that Lauryn take him on a tour of the house and grounds of Connemara. Lauryn was very thankful that Patrick was off somewhere playing with a friend. His endless questioning and babbling at Brant had completely interfered with the endless questioning and babbling that Lauryn had planned to fire at him.

“
Careful,” she warned, leading him cautiously. “It’s a little downhill right here.” As always, an odd anxiety rose in Lauryn as they approached the ancient springhouse. “The O’Hallerans used this water for everythin’ until my Paw Paw, my grandpa Kensington, had the well dug,” she explained. She wondered again why this place made her uncomfortable. The springhouse was a small building built over a natural spring. A little watermill and pond were on one outside wall. Steps leading through a short doorway at the adjoining wall led down into the spring water inside where a brick shelf walkway, built level with the base of the springhouse, made it possible to enter without going for a swim. There were windows, although barred, down low near the water to let in the sun to illuminate the room. Still, in Lauryn’s mind, it was as plain and unnerving a place as there ever was.