The Fragrance of Her Name (2 page)

At that very moment, the air in the attic seemed to refresh itself. There came a breeze that danced through the room although the windows were closed. From behind her came a voice…no more than a whisper at first, and in the next instant Lauryn felt a calming, comfortable, unseen presence.

"If I turn around and look at you…will you be there?" Lauryn whispered. Knowing full well how silly it would sound if anyone from downstairs were to enter the attic in search of her and find her talking to the breezes, Lauryn paused, only half expecting an answer. Of course there wouldn't be an answer. She would've seen or heard anyone enter the attic. But, when an answer did
come, she sat frozen, her eyes intent on, but blind to, the tintype in her hands.

"I will," came the voice. It was a man's voice, deep and commanding, yet oddly reassuring. Still Lauryn feared to turn and look back—not because she feared seeing ghosts. There had always been stories of ghosts roaming the house and grounds of Connemara. Some said they were the spirits of vengeful slaves that had once worked the fields nearby. Others said they were soldiers who had died in battle in those same fields or had been brought to Connemara to be tended to during the Battle of Franklin. And still others claimed that the ghost of a union soldier had been seen, walking the grounds as if in search of something. Therefore, ghosts were not a new idea to Lauryn.

All the same, she could not turn to speak to him and simply asked, "Are you Brandon?"

"I am," came the answer.

"I…I'm gonna look at you now, Mr. Brandon. That I am, sir," the young girl muttered. Slowly she turned where she knelt before the trunk to see standing just behind her, as if he'd just walked into the room, Captain Brandon Carmichael Masterson. He stood there! Really stood there with her! Looking as if he'd stepped directly out of the dingy tintype she held in her hand and into a world of color in 1909.



Ten years! It had been ten years since Lauryn had first ventured into the attic and met the Captain. And now she was on the train back to Franklin, back to her beloved Connemara and back to the Captain. How she’d missed him while she’d been gone! After all, he had been her dearest companion for the past decade. She had missed him desperately while she and Nana had been in New Orleans for the past year.

"Nana?” Lauryn whispered to her grandmother. The elderly woman’s eyes were closed, her tiny hands folded neatly in her lap. "Are you sleepin’, Nana?" Lauryn asked once more. Her grandmother appeared to be resting, head propped comfortably on the lacy pillow tucked against the seat back.

Reaching over and tenderly brushing a loose strand of snowy-white hair from her grandmother’s forehead, Lauryn smiled. What a beauty her Nana was!
There is nothing so beautiful as an aged woman
, she thought. The wisdom that shown from their bright eyes, the unmatched comfort that came from their nurturing words and embraces gave to each snowy-haired matron the essence of an angel. And Lauryn’s grandmother, Virginia Anne Kensington, was the most beautiful of all.

Long ago, Lauryn had come to realize the mischievous little woman was often quite wide awake and coherent even though she appeared to be sleeping. Yes, Lauryn’s grandmother was no less than an expert at playing possum. This time, however, slumber had gotten the better of Virginia Kensington and she was truly asleep. Lauryn sighed contentedly as she propped her elbow upon the armrest of her own seat. She placed her chin on her fist and gazed out the window as the train passed through the scenic countryside.

The steady rumble of the train traveling along the track provided a soothing accompaniment to her thoughts and fancies. The trees were not decked in various shades of tree-green as they would be come spring, but their late wintry state was beautiful in its own right. Lonely, leafless branches reached toward the clear blue, promising skies. Birds fluttered here and there and small, grayish-brown squirrels scurried about in the once green meadow grasses. The promise of spring was quite evident…if one simply took the time to notice.

Sighing heavily, Lauryn caught sight of herself in the glass of the train window. Her brows were nicely arched and perfectly accented her hazel-green eyes. A small, rather heart-shaped mouth, and high cheekbones were the only features of her face Lauryn found acceptable. She inwardly thanked the Heavens for those satisfactory attributes. Her teeth were straight and white as pearls, and she assumed that made her smile something to be thankful for. Her figure was pleasingly well proportioned and, although she was not many inches above five feet, she could be considered of average height.

But her hair! The mass of brown, thick, wavy locks was her greatest frustration. It was a rather unusual shade of brown…like cinnamon and nutmeg sifted together. The problem was the seemingly blessed curl that let it hang in full, perfectly formed ringlets! It was impossible to get the thick mass of tresses to stay in any sort of style true to the times. When her hair was down, she reminded herself of some wild, untamed woman raised in the jungle. She did, indeed, keep it long…for cutting it short would have given her the appearance of wearing springs on her head! Consequently, when in public, Lauryn forever had to pull back the dark, wavy mane or deal with the surprised, disapproving stares of all mankind.

Finally admitting herself shallow in pointless musing, Lauryn thought,
perhaps there are those who are all the more beautiful than I am…but still, there are those who are less attractive
. This was how she always managed to find peace with her seemingly common appearance. With one final sigh, Lauryn returned to her pondering on other of life’s factualities.

It had been over three quarters of a year since she and Nana left Franklin, Lauryn reflected. It seemed hard to imagine they had been gone so long. It had been a glorious year in many ways, yet horrific in so many, many others. The war had ended. The world could be thankful for that. Yet the influenza had taken a massive quantity of human life. More people were taken by disease than men lost in the war. It seemed unfathomable to Lauryn that she should have been spared by the influenza’s merciless, murderous rampage. Then she realized it had been nearly six months since the influenza struck and took her father.

Lauryn’s mother had sent word that she and Nana were not to return home, as her father had fallen ill. It was a mere six days later that they received word of his death. She and Nana were not even able to attend the funeral! Her younger brother, Patrick, had contracted the disease and they were advised not to travel. Nana was heartbroken that she could not attend her son’s wake to say her last good byes. It was nearly unbearable for Lauryn as well. She missed her father! What would home be without him? She wondered if it would even seem like home. Her father’s presence dominated their home; his love permeated every inch of it. A part of her was frightened at life without him. And yet, she was beginning to heal. The past months away from home had forced her to heal.

Lauryn closed her eyes and tried to dispel the visions of the evils that had devastated the world—the evil of war and the sickness of influenza. Oh, how she missed her mother and siblings, her friends in Franklin! The train could not arrive in Tennessee quickly enough for her.

She dreamily imagined her beloved Connemara House. She was so glad her great grandfather O’Halleran had named it after the place of his birth, a little known region in Ireland. It couldn’t have been more beautifully named. It was exciting to anticipate that in a few months spring would be nurturing the tiny buds of the prolific wisteria vines and trees that covered the grounds at Connemara so that…. ahhh! Lauryn could almost smell them, almost feel the fragrant lavender blossoms that hung heavy on the vines. Inhaling deeply, eyes still closed, she tried to envision what the house had looked like the spring before she left.

The wisteria was beautiful that spring! Even with the war raging abroad, even with the ever-oppressive anticipation of good news or bad that prevailed upon everyone at home, the wisteria at Connemara was beautiful like a promise that God had not forsaken the world. Lauryn loved to watch the long clusters of blossoms dance softly with the breezes among the green of the vine's leaves, spilling out their gently intoxicating scent. It seemed to be the pure perfume of Heaven.

And, yes, her family—the loved ones of her heart. How wonderful it would be to see everyone! They were the spirited souls that made Connemara a piece of Heaven. Lauryn had missed them all! And her father…she opened her eyes to dispel the vision of him, concentrating on those who remained. She imagined her mother kneading bread dough and then busily cleaning up the kitchen while it was set to rise.

Patrick would be waiting, very impatiently, for Nana and Lauryn's return. There would be someone else to assist him in setting up his toy soldiers and shoot them down with pebbles to imitate the terrible war that had raged overseas. Who? None other than Lauryn. It was a certainty that elder brother Sean was too busy with his wife, Melinda, and new baby, Junie, to find a moment to entertain his wee boy sibling. Over the past long months, Patrick’s letters had pleaded with Lauryn to return for he had not one worthy playmate—no one whose aim with a pebble was as deadly to a small tin soldier as his older sister’s. And how absolutely wonderful it was to now have a small niece to spoil and love! She could just imagine the wonderful scent of the new baby's head and soft fuzzy hair. Yes, the new baby would be especially fun to greet.

And Penny! Her dearest friend! Penny McGovern would have returned from her time away as well. Letters just weren’t the same as giggling face-to-face. Lauryn thought of the days she and Penny had spent playing on the grounds of Connemara. She smiled remembering their pretended romances with Henry, the ancient statue that stood weathered and worn just outside the gate that led to the family cemetery. In her mind’s eye, Lauryn could still picture the way Penny demonstrated how to properly kiss a boy using Henry’s granite lips as proxy. Lauryn cleared her throat, realizing she had giggled out loud. Yes, it would be fabulous to see Penny again.

However, of all the people she’d missed, it was the Captain Lauryn was most excited to see! It had been nearly intolerable to be parted from him for so long…and yet, almost a peaceful respite for her mind. Would he visit her immediately, she wondered? Would he wait until she had been home for several hours or days? She could not wait to see him! How she hoped he would not tarry in seeking her out. Even now she could imagine his standing before her—his countenance so uncommonly handsome, his eyes searching hers familiarly, his uniform as inspiring as that day he'd first donned it before going off to war so long ago.

Closing her eyes once more, Lauryn sensed a smile spread across her face and a comforting warmness fill her body at the thought of him. How she longed for his company. And, it was only natural that her mind then wandered back to the first time she met him, so very long ago…when her child's heart was pure and open to believing all that it needed to believe.



"Speak to me, sir! 'Cause y’all'r givin' me a fit of the shivers worse than I ever had ‘em before!" the young Lauryn ventured as she starred in awe at the manly apparition standing before her. Instantly, she felt reassured when the man hunkered down to meet her face to face, an enchanting grin spreading across his features. My! He was
handsome!

"No need to be scared of me, little one. We already know each other," the man said.

"I have to say it, sir…I never in my life remember meetin' up with you! And I'm sure that I would if I had," Lauryn told him. His chuckle was like deep, rich honey and warm summer bees buzzing, and Lauryn liked it.

"Well, now…maybe I was a little soon in saying that we know each other. I know you, anyway. I remember the day your Mama had you, the day you sat up and took notice of the world, and I know today's your eighth birthday. And, I believe if you think about it very hard, you can tell me what you've learned about me by rummaging through that trunk this afternoon."

Lauryn loved a challenge or a game and this seemed to be both to her at that moment. "I know your name is Brandon. And I know your wife's name is very close to my own…Lauralynn. I think this here is y’all's weddin' portrait and I think you're as handsome as she is beautiful. I think that there near-bolt of fabric was her weddin' gown and I think…by the manner of your uniform, Sir…that you were a Yankee!"

Again the gentle laughter. "You're a smart girl, all right, Miss Lauryn. And I knew you would be. Anything else?"

She may have been only eight years old, but Lauryn had a very discerning mind and as she looked at the man and at the likeness in her hand and at the well-cared-for trunk she said, "Y’all'r a ghost. And ghosts only come back to see the livin' if they're in some kinda trouble or havin' a worry.” She wrinkled her tender brow for a moment thoughtfully and then continued, "I've seen Miss Lauralynn's paintin' in the library, but I never knew her story exactly. Only that it was tragical. Never thought 'bout askin'...before now. But I think…I think tragedy must be with you, too. And I think that's why you roam around the grounds here searchin'. Are you lookin' for Miss Lauralynn, sir?"

The man smiled, though his eyes showed a deep, sorrowful pain. "I am, Miss. I am. And you're the one to help find her. I've been waiting until you were old enough to understand, and I think you are. I'm Captain Brandon Masterson," he said standing. "Brand to my friends. And I'll be here whenever you need me, Miss Lauryn. And I hope that someday you'll be willing and able to help me find my Laura…my sweet Lauralynn. Now, go on down to your grandmother. She's got a story to tell. And after your party tonight, you and I will have a talk, okay?"