Forgotten Dreams by Eleanor Woods Page B

It'll be up to you to see that it's kept up."
    Toni fidgeted uncomfortably beneath her aunt's intense gaze. She could have hugged Mrs. D, who chose that moment to speak, then could just as easily have taped shut the dear woman's mouth as she listened to the housekeeper talking about there being someone next door.
    This news seemed to please Aunt Sara, who expressed a definite dislike for "that last young man and his flighty wife."
    After dinner was over, Toni saw her aunt to her chair in the sitting room while the housekeeper cleared the table.
     
    Once she had Aunt Sara seated in the comfortable chair, Toni was careful to tuck the warm folds of an afghan about her knees and ankles. "Now," she said with a smile as she bent and kissed one softly lined cheek, "that should keep you snug and warm. Are you ready for your sherry?"
    "I suppose so, but only half a glass, Antonia," her aunt instructed. "It relaxes me and makes me sleepy."
    "That's what it's supposed to do." Toni chuckled as she walked over to a delicately carved rosewood table on which sat a tray holding glasses, as well as a decanter each of sherry, bourbon, and Scotch. She was careful to pour only the requested amount of sherry, thinking, rather amusedly, what a comedown it was for her aunt. Until about four years ago Sara Cart-
    laigne's after-dinner toddy had been a neat three fingers of bourbon.
    Toni carried the small, stemmed glass over to her aunt, an apologetic expression on her face. "I realize you would rather have the bourbon and I wish I could pve it to you."
    "That's one of the many things about you that I love, Antonia." Sara smiled conspiratorially. "You un-derstand me. Your mother—God rest her soul—and Susie have always thought of me as being one step from AA."
    "Nonsense," said Toni. "I'd much rather see you enjoying your toddy than having to take some sort of tranquilizer."
     
    The next hour was spent as each evening after dinner had been since Toni's arrival in Natchez. Sara entertained her niece with lively stories of the past. And if Toni had heard the stories numerous times and knew them by heart, she never let on. For to her, her great-aunt was special, and if the small amount of time Aunt Sara spent in reliving her past made her happy, then Toni considered it the most important part of her day.
    By the time Mrs. D joined them, however, Aunt Sara was attempting to hide her yawns behind the ace-trimmed handkerchief she always kept handy. Toni and the housekeeper exchanged knowing glances as the stories became slightly less coherent and the voice a little more halting.
    When the tiny head finally began to nod, Mrs. D suggested that it was getting late. Aunt Sara immedi-ately agreed. "I think you should go to bed as well, Aatonia," she told her niece. "Late nights can take the acorn out of a young girl's cheeks."
    Toni smothered her amusement at this advice as she leaned forward for the peck on her cheek that her aunt doled out nightly. "I won't be far behind you," Toni hedged, then stepped aside and watched the house keeper guide her charge from the room.
    As she turned back to the softly glowing coals of the small fire, Toni heard the commanding sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway strike nine times. Bloom in her cheeks or not, there was no way she could go to bed at such an early hour.
    She glanced around the high-ceilinged room at the priceless antique furnishings. And though she had a deep sense of love and pride in her surroundings, Toni found herself feeling anxious for the first time since her arrival at Cartlaigne Cottage.
     
    It didn't take her long to pinpoint the source of her uneasiness. It was in the shape and form of the nasty man who had moved next door . . . Christian Barr.
    She sat on the sofa and stared moodily at the fire, conjuring up all sorts of unflattering pictures of her new neighbor. Her favorite showed him as an aging Lothario, leering lasciviously at each young girl he en- countered.
    I wonder how old he