moonlight.” He scrubbed his heated cheeks. “What…uh, what else might there be to talk about?”
“How you saved Mr. Iver’s mare when she was foaling twins. Your proposal to improve the roads at the edge of the city using sawdust and india rubber. The way you kept badgering all the other farmers to send off for a soil analysis.”
“Was that too annoying?”
“The consensus was that you were quite the catch. All the young ladies agreed that in twenty years, you’d be running everything.”
Impossible. They’d all giggled at him.
“Are you sure you didn’t spend all your time talking about how I set the grain silo on fire?”
“Oh, yes. I heard about that all the time.”
“Good. I’d hate to think that everyone represented me as some kind of—”
She actually let out a little laugh. “That’s not why we talked about it. Do you happen to recall that while you were working on the firebreak, you removed your shirt?”
“Gah.” He set his hand against a tree. “I’ll never be able to look any of them in the eye again.”
“You look well enough without a shirt.” She shook her head. “How odd, that you would see yourself like that. Is that what you think? That you’re a little shy with the ladies?”
“Mary, when I first met you, I walked up to you at the end of a brilliant performance and browbeat you about your selection of music.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” she said.
“I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I just thought that…”
“That what?”
“That I didn’t want to let you disappear,” he whispered. “Not without saying something. Anything.” The night took in his words, swallowed them up. Crickets called to one another; an owl hooted softly.
“We’ve come a long road since then,” she whispered.
We.
There hadn’t been a
we
in months. He wasn’t sure there could be again.
“You were right.” She swallowed. “I…I do need a friend. Someone to talk to about just this—about people we once knew in common, about things that don’t exist for any reason except to lighten my heart. It has been so long.”
He should have felt triumphant at that.
“Please,” she said, “please, don’t tell me that this is friendship if all you want is to hear my answers. I can bear a great many things, but not that. Don’t treat me like a real person if you don’t really believe it.”
He opened his mouth to tell her the truth.
And then he thought of his nephew, of the thousands of pounds that had gone missing. He thought of that moment when she’d handed back his ring and said she didn’t love him. He thought of the laugh in her voice just moments before. He didn’t know what the truth was. He only knew what he wished it could be.
“God’s honest truth,” he told her. “I missed you. The money was just an excuse to find you.”
And maybe that would be the truth—that he’d loved her and hurt when she left. That he could put aside his hurt and they might take up matters where they’d left off. Maybe it could be the truth.
In all likelihood, it couldn’t.
“I must get back soon.” But she didn’t move away from him.
“Will I see you again here tomorrow?”
“For…for friendship?”
He nodded. Not quite the truth. Not quite a lie. She’d hurt him, and he couldn’t let himself forget it, no matter what she smelled like. He couldn’t forget the role she’d played in her father’s scheme—whatever that had been. But she smiled, and when she did, some tense, hard center deep inside his soul seemed to ease.
“Then yes,” she said. “I’d like that. Good-bye, then, for now.” She turned to go. But she took only a few steps before she turned around and paced back to him, stopping square in front of him. She lifted her hand to his face, touching his nose ever so lightly. Her fingers brushed his cheek, his lips, as if she were committing the feel of him to memory. He stood in place, not daring to move.
Her touch made full-truth
“How you saved Mr. Iver’s mare when she was foaling twins. Your proposal to improve the roads at the edge of the city using sawdust and india rubber. The way you kept badgering all the other farmers to send off for a soil analysis.”
“Was that too annoying?”
“The consensus was that you were quite the catch. All the young ladies agreed that in twenty years, you’d be running everything.”
Impossible. They’d all giggled at him.
“Are you sure you didn’t spend all your time talking about how I set the grain silo on fire?”
“Oh, yes. I heard about that all the time.”
“Good. I’d hate to think that everyone represented me as some kind of—”
She actually let out a little laugh. “That’s not why we talked about it. Do you happen to recall that while you were working on the firebreak, you removed your shirt?”
“Gah.” He set his hand against a tree. “I’ll never be able to look any of them in the eye again.”
“You look well enough without a shirt.” She shook her head. “How odd, that you would see yourself like that. Is that what you think? That you’re a little shy with the ladies?”
“Mary, when I first met you, I walked up to you at the end of a brilliant performance and browbeat you about your selection of music.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” she said.
“I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I just thought that…”
“That what?”
“That I didn’t want to let you disappear,” he whispered. “Not without saying something. Anything.” The night took in his words, swallowed them up. Crickets called to one another; an owl hooted softly.
“We’ve come a long road since then,” she whispered.
We.
There hadn’t been a
we
in months. He wasn’t sure there could be again.
“You were right.” She swallowed. “I…I do need a friend. Someone to talk to about just this—about people we once knew in common, about things that don’t exist for any reason except to lighten my heart. It has been so long.”
He should have felt triumphant at that.
“Please,” she said, “please, don’t tell me that this is friendship if all you want is to hear my answers. I can bear a great many things, but not that. Don’t treat me like a real person if you don’t really believe it.”
He opened his mouth to tell her the truth.
And then he thought of his nephew, of the thousands of pounds that had gone missing. He thought of that moment when she’d handed back his ring and said she didn’t love him. He thought of the laugh in her voice just moments before. He didn’t know what the truth was. He only knew what he wished it could be.
“God’s honest truth,” he told her. “I missed you. The money was just an excuse to find you.”
And maybe that would be the truth—that he’d loved her and hurt when she left. That he could put aside his hurt and they might take up matters where they’d left off. Maybe it could be the truth.
In all likelihood, it couldn’t.
“I must get back soon.” But she didn’t move away from him.
“Will I see you again here tomorrow?”
“For…for friendship?”
He nodded. Not quite the truth. Not quite a lie. She’d hurt him, and he couldn’t let himself forget it, no matter what she smelled like. He couldn’t forget the role she’d played in her father’s scheme—whatever that had been. But she smiled, and when she did, some tense, hard center deep inside his soul seemed to ease.
“Then yes,” she said. “I’d like that. Good-bye, then, for now.” She turned to go. But she took only a few steps before she turned around and paced back to him, stopping square in front of him. She lifted her hand to his face, touching his nose ever so lightly. Her fingers brushed his cheek, his lips, as if she were committing the feel of him to memory. He stood in place, not daring to move.
Her touch made full-truth
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