9. ~ Dreaming ~

CHAPTER 9

The storm abated, but the aftermath was catastrophic. The telephone line had been restored but not the electricity. From Mrs. White's call this morning, we learned she and Mr. Vines were stranded in town as much as we were at Oak's Place. The wind knocked down several trees and electrical lines on High Banks, the only access road to the house. Complicating matters, parts of the pavement lay underwater. It would take a while to clear it.

"Would you like to play Monopoly?" Alex entered his office with a board game. "I bought it on my way back from England."

I left the window and joined him at the desk. "You like board games?"

"They're all right. Help pass the time." He moved to the hearth and fed it a few logs from the pile beside it.

"I'm not sure." I thought of the games I played with the girls at the monastery. I always lost.

"Ah, Miss Contini." A playful light danced in his eyes. "Do I detect a trace of cowardice?"

He could not have struck my ego harder. I could be many things, but not a coward. "Seriously, Mr. Sterling." I matched his playfulness. "You could benefit from some humbling."

He chuckled. "Perhaps, but it won't be today."

"We shall see."

While he set up the game, I inspected his features more closely. He looked healthier today, his skin radiant.

He looked up from the cards in his hands. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you are thoroughly analyzing me."

"I'm not. I was thinking about the storm," I lied, embarrassed to be caught.

"That's funny. I was also thinking about the storm," he murmured, and I knew he'd seen right through my lie. "I'm sorry you are stuck here with me." He quickly distributed the cards on the desk.

"I'm not. I'm glad to spend time together."

"I'm forty-four years old, Florence. Don't you think I'm a bit old for you?"

"A hundred years old is old. You aren't even halfway there."

"I feel like it sometimes." He rolled the dice and moved a few spaces, then handed it to me.

"The age difference has its advantages, you know." In part, I attributed my growing audacity to Mrs. White's absence. I hadn't realized how much she intimidated me.

A shadow of amusement crossed his face. "Tell me."

"I feel safe with you."

"Roll the dice." Alex reminded me, and I did.

"And I must confess." I jumped two spaces on the board. "You aren't unpleasant to look at, but you already know that."

"That's another way of saying I'm not good-looking." He said this with such sincerity I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, it's a good thing that what I lack, you possess in abundance—enough for us both."

"Thank you." My gaze dropped to the game board, my cheeks burning.

"Before you overthink what I said, let me clarify. I meant beauty, not intelligence, for I'll win this game." He chuckled.

"You are a very arrogant man, Mr. Sterling."

"I've been told that before. I'm still not convinced."

I rolled my eyes.

The game went on, our pieces moving around the board as we bought properties, paid dues, and tried to get ahead of each other.

Alex pointed to a card. "I'd like to buy the railroad, and you owe 10 percent income tax to the bank. Oh, and I'll also buy two more houses."

"Seriously?" I was about to lose.

"What's the matter?" He smiled. "I can let you win if you'd like."

I frowned.

"You said it yourself. I have more experience buying and selling things. It's definitely the age difference."

"Sure it is," I mocked. "You just happen to know and have it all."

"Having it all is dangerous. You've got more to lose." He made a move that sealed his win.

"Where there is no risk, there is no gain." Through the windowpane, my eyes found the majestic statue of the lady and child. His gaze followed mine, and it felt as if a cloud of darkness descended upon the room.

"Risk can be an unforgiving enemy. The things that matter most shouldn't be risked or bought with money. I'm a wealthy man, but I'm also the poorest."

Though I yearned to ask a few questions, I knew it was a sensitive topic, one he'd avoided in the meadow. I'd wait until he was ready to talk about it.

The afternoon brought another downpour. At Alex's request, Zaira set up dinner in the dining room. She also spared me from wearing the same clothes I had for the past two days by lending me a long-sleeved purple dress with a golden belt.

Alex sat at the head of the table, highlighted by the flames dancing in the fireplace. He wore dark trousers and a white button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves. As I entered, he rose and pulled back a chair for me.

"Thank you."

Zaira had set out large cream-colored plates with flowers carved at the edges and heavy silverware adorned similarly.

"These belonged to my parents." Alex touched the carved crystal goblet.

"They are beautiful."

Zaira entered the room carrying a tray as if she served royalty. No doubt she loved to show off her culinary skills. When it came to preparing, cooking, and presenting exquisite dishes, she proved a master of deception. Just when I thought I had seen her best, she surprised me with something even more delicious. And so it was tonight. Al dente, Fusilli pasta and vegetables seasoned with delicate spices formed an unforgettable dish.

"Zaira, I have to admit the presentation of your meals is no less spectacular than the flavors," Alex praised as she placed the food on the table.

She blushed. "Thank you, sir."

"I should take cooking lessons from you," I told her.

"I doubt you need them," Alex said convincingly.

"You say that because you haven't encountered my cooking," I refuted.

"I agree with Mr. Sterling," Zaira said. "However, I'd love to teach you a few of my tricks if you'd like. Nothing too complicated." She underestimated reality, for I had seen how she worked to create such perfection.

"Done. Thank you."

"I'll take care of this," Alex said to Zaira, grabbing the serving spoon. "Please don't worry about the dishes. You've done enough. Thank you."

"Very well, sir, but know I made chocolate cake for dessert."

"Wonderful. I'll get it when we are ready," he assured.

Zaira left, looking pleased. She had gone above and beyond, and I was now confident she approved of Alex and me dating.

Alex served the food and refilled our drinks. "I hope she never retires. I love her cooking."

"I know. It's heavenly." I forked some noodles.

"Florence, you have no idea how you have changed my life." He placed his hand on top of mine.

"I don't. Why don't you tell me?"

"Perhaps one day I'll be able to tell you everything." He let go of my hand. "Let's enjoy the food before it gets cold."

I took a bite, racking my brain for a way to broach the subject without pushing him. Then it came. "At least tell me this. Earlier today when you fell asleep as we read?—"

He shook his head slightly. "Sorry. I can't believe I did."

"Don't be. I wasn't bored."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"You said some interesting things." I twirled the fork in the pasta. "Would you tell me about them?"

"If I only remembered them."

"You said, "Heavy fire, hold your post, Marne.'" I carefully selected the words, leaving out those that might cause him to shut down.

"I see. I dreamed about the Great War. Marne, named after the river, was a crucial battle when the British and French stopped the German advance into Paris, saving the city from being taken." He looked into the fire, his eyes saddening. "It was brutal, and it dragged on for a long time. You know, when the British entered the conflict, I drove by White Hall in London and saw young men lined up in the street, waiting to volunteer."

"Brave men."

"They were, but they had no idea what they were headed for. They didn't realize their chances of survival were close to zero. But I can't blame them. I knew the statistics and was still anxious to go."

"You didn't want to return?"

"By then, I had nothing to return to. Ironic. Me, who didn't care to survive, did."

Did he not care because of the loss of his wife and child? Afraid to ask, I said, "I'm glad you did. I'm glad we know each other."

"Forgive me. I haven't dreamed of the war for a while. I got a little carried away. What else did I say?"

"You said, ‘Florence, please forgive me. It was my fault. I didn't come back from London in time.'"

"That's interesting. My trip was on schedule. Anything else?"

"You insisted that if you'd have come back in time, I would not have been hurt."

His body stiffened, and the words spilled from his mouth. "I'll say. Sounds like I carried on a full discussion in my sleep. Isn't it amazing how dreams can be so nonsensical?"

"You can say that again." Unlike my incomprehensible dreams, at least he had the war and its trauma to justify his.

He pushed the chair back and stood. "Would you like some dessert?"

"Later, perhaps." I glanced at the piano in the corner of the room. "Will you play for me?"

He hesitated.

"Please."

"All right."

Almost in slow motion, he placed his fingers on the keys and began to play. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. The intensity with which he played belied his stoic fa?ade. All the emotions behind those conversations when he'd changed the subject or didn't answer my questions now seemed to flow through the music. Only after the music stopped did I realize tears dampened my cheeks.

"Do I play that poorly?" He walked over and brushed my tears with his thumb.

"Terrible," I joked.

"What's the matter?"

"I have never heard someone play like that. It felt like you poured your soul into it. It was beautiful."

"You are beautiful. You deserve better than me."

"It's not what I deserve that I care about but what I want."

"And what do you want?" His eyes searched mine as if trying to read my soul.

"I want to be a part of your life." Saying it aloud felt liberating.

"You will never know how much that means to me." He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, then trailed kisses down my cheek, and, at last, his lips found mine. I trembled, both from the sweet wildness that coursed through my veins and the fear that his secret past might conspire to keep us apart.

The Buick veered down High Banks Road. The pavement was strewn with fallen branches, uprooted trees, and standing water. Despite the chaos sprawling in every direction, there was a peculiar tranquility—a feeling of peace in the storm, as though everything were right for the first time in twenty years. As I drove the final stretch to the monastery, my mind caught between the intimate moments I spent with Alex and the allure of the unknown—the horse ride, the games, sleeping in his embrace. I couldn't wait to be back to him, to his world—even when I knew little about that world.

With a sigh, I turned my attention back to home. The storm had affected it too, but thankfully, it wasn't as bad as Oak's Place.

I let myself into the kitchen and found Granny, Sister Callahan, and a few others gathered around the table, captivated by whatever it was they were examining. In their black and white attire, they looked like oversized magpies circling their prey.

Granny turned at the creak of the door. "Child, it's so wonderful to have you home!"

"Fannie, Fannie is back!" Sister Callahan exclaimed.

"It's good to be home." I embraced Granny warmly.

Sister Callahan came straight at me, and before I knew it, she crushed me in her arms.

"Hello, Sister Callahan," I wheezed, struggling for air.

There was a collective greeting from the rest of the sisters as Sister Callahan released her grip. Catching my breath, I noticed several drawings on the table, my drawings, and a few others I didn't recognize.

Granny quickly explained: "Florence, forgive me for bringing out your drawings. Sister Cox here," she signaled to a thin woman with a pointy nose beside Sister Sullivan, "loves drawing herself, and I thought to show her your work."

"No, it's okay," I said. "My only concern is how ordinary they must seem." I picked up someone else's drawing. "This on the other hand—this is excellent." The scene depicted a garden populated by a colony of hummingbirds hovering over rose bushes. Their wings looked surprisingly real.

"You are kind," Sister Cox said. "I drew it after one of Saint Mary's gardens. And if I may say so, you are quite gifted. I love your drawings."

"Thank you." I attempted to sit down when Sister Callahan barked something and my knees locked, keeping me on my feet.

"Now—now! Who is this?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

I did not know how to respond. The paper she advertised in total bliss was the sketch of the young Alex.

"He is so handsome!" Sister Callahan went on, "and around your age—isn't he? Who is he?"

"No one, really, just a product of my imagination," I lied. There was no need to disclose the truth, for if I did, it would open a flood of questions and assumptions I didn't want to talk about.

"Well, that's just too bad. If you ask me, I think he would be the perfect match for you." Sister Callahan laughed, and admiring the drawing one last time, she returned it to the pile.

I settled into a chair, grateful she had dropped the subject. However, once or twice, I caught her staring at the young Alex before looking at me. I feigned my best at ignorance while I studied the rest of Sister Cox's work, taking mental notes of her clever techniques.