A Promise Worth Keeping

A Promise Worth Keeping

by

Cyndi Faria

A Promise Worth Keeping

Copyright © 2013 by Cyndi Faria

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. 

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

“A sweet Valentine’s Day delight.”

—
Susan Hatler,
International Bestselling Author

“
Cyndi Faria writes with passion and her stories touch the heart.”

—
Virna DePaul,
Bestselling Author

“Ms. Faria has penned an exquisite, bittersweet tale to warm up your Valentine’s Day. True love is worth waiting for.”

—Jill James,
author of Divorce, Interrupted

“Cyndi Faria has written a short story that will stay with you after you read it. Love and how it
affects the individual is the heart of the story. A perfect Valentine Day’s read, a perfect read for any time your heart is feeling lonely.”

—P
epper Phillips,
author The Devil Has Dimples, a 4 star Romantic Times pick

by

Cyndi Faria

With
Valentine’s Day only hours away, Clayton considered his vandalized garden through squinted eyes. It was only his first week as the new groundskeeper at The Remy Estate, and already someone had woven the spears of the hilltop weeping willow into thick braids that swayed in the breeze.

His fist pumped with frustration at the
vandal’s disrespectful joke and he nearly dropped his shears, which would have butchered the fescue grass he was supposed to clip to the estate owner’s stringent specifications. Was the universe punishing him for ignoring Sarah’s proposal? His long time girlfriend had popped the question a few nights ago, but instead of saying yes the way he’d wanted to—he loved her, after all, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—he’d told her he needed to think about it because things were fine the way they were. Their five-year relationship was going smoothly, so why complicate it with marriage? Growing up, his parents had been content with a common law marriage. The real deal had torn them apart. He didn’t want to make the same mistake.

Sarah had said she understood and that he was a man worth loving. Things between them had gone back to normal, but a cloud of guil
t and unease had stayed with him. Guilt, because he’d hurt her. Unease, because what would he do if Sarah finally decided to leave him?

A mellow gust pushed the
garden’s gate closed with an eerie
clank
.

Eyes d
rawn to the nearby wrought-iron door, he twisted his ball cap bill to the back. Who’d unlocked the sole entrance to the hilltop pathway? To his knowledge, he’d been entrusted with the only key after working in the penned area yesterday. The area was off limits to anyone but Remy family members.

Sighing, he pushed his guilt over
Sarah’s proposal out of his mind and got to work on the task at hand. After spending two hours untangling the willow whips, he strolled back down the hill to the exit and gave the gate a good shake to make sure it had secured tightly behind him. He scanned the rainbow of flowers intermingled with beds of roses that blanketed the parcel in all directions, beds he’d prepped and tended just like his father and grandfather—both master gardeners—had taught him.

Clayton
smiled and rolled his shoulder. Satisfied with the way he’d deadheaded every dried-up flower and shaped each topiary into a spiral column, he assured himself the estate was ready for tomorrow’s visitors. Some guests would travel hundreds of miles to celebrate the heartfelt holiday with family and friends.

Only what if the
pranksters came back tonight to pull another practical joke?

Deciding he couldn’t let that happen, h
e twisted his hat so the bill shadowed his eyes and flipped his jacket’s hood up over his cap. He drove his cart around to the river side of the hilltop and parked behind a thick mesh of honeysuckle while the evening array of orange and red rode the horizon. As long as he was in charge, not a leaf or petal or blade would go unkempt. In his work and in relationships, he took pride keeping things orderly and uncomplicated. He’d stay up all night to keep the garden protected. No one would slip past Clayton and ruin the estate’s Valentine’s Day tribute.

****

Wallace leaned against the riverside weeping willow where he’d promised his wife Anna he’d wait for her no matter how long it took. It seemed appropriate that she was late—she’d kept him standing at the altar longer than polite before marrying him. Today, she’d arrive eventually, too. To distract himself while he waited, he brushed his fingers against the carved bark that had cracked and sunken over time.

N
ostalgia tightened his throat. Together, they’d marred the tree with their initials when they were fifteen and made their promise—that no matter what the future held, they’d meet at the right time at
their
tree for a Valentine’s Day kiss.

The
squeak of the gate at the base of the hill behind him pulled his attention from thoughts of promises and smooching and time spent apart. Toward her.

His heart squeezed and his mouth went dry
when he saw her. Amazing, he thought, to still have such a reaction. Since the first day he’d sat behind her in their kindergarten homeroom and wove his fingers through her ringlet curls, he’d known their hearts were joined—forever.

In her heels, s
he delicately hiked up the hillside with her buttercup colored dress billowing about her calves. A thin belt hugged her tiny waist, which he couldn’t wait to hold. She cupped one elbow as she twisted her blonde waist-length ponytail. She always fussed with her hair when she was nervous and he recalled the first time she’d stood at the top of her parents’ banister on prom night after making him wait a half hour. Her hair hadn’t been quite to her liking, though he’d never witnessed a single strand out of place. She’d been worth the wait then, and, good Lord, she was worth the wait now.

Tension
released from his shoulders and neck. He approached her and reached into his back pocket for her favorite rose. Red. Always red.

Chuckling
, he clutched the single stem behind his back and could already hear her reprimanding him about spending money on non-essentials. He hadn’t. Knowing how practical she felt about wasting money, he’d plucked it from the garden. Made sure the bud’s outer leaves were unscathed by mold or aphids, too.

“Wallace… Oh, Wallace!
” She leaped into his embrace and pressed her cherry lips to his. The simple kiss warmed his heart. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long. But I’m here now.”

“And that’s all that matters
, Anna.”

He pushed the rose into her soft hand.

“You shouldn’t have—”

“
Don’t worry. Plucked it down below. Only the best for my girl.”

“It
’s lovely.” She brought it to her nose and inhaled. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes caught the light so she glowed even more beautiful. As she arched into him, her breasts pressed against his dress-blues and tempted his gaze. Seemed like time stood still for both of them as he pulled her close.

H
er body against him and the hum from the river soothed away every wrong he’d ever experienced. How good it was to be home. Now that his bride nuzzled against him, peace imbued him. Taking the end of a willow braid, he tickled her cheek until she giggled. God, he adored hearing her laugh.

Morning’s
glow filtered through the willow tree’s leafy whips and sprinkled her face in crescent shadows. She tipped her head, so her cobalt eyes reflected the color of his suit, and she adjusted the silver bars that flanked his collar. “You look very handsome, as always.”

He huffed
. She said that no matter what he wore. “And here I thought you’d prefer my pickle suit?”

She
glanced behind him to where the water widened and grew shallow. “Maybe you should have worn your work clothes instead of your formals because I have an idea.” She melted against him and held his gaze as if waiting for him to object.

H
e conjured up all of the lascivious shenanigans they’d committed in the past while laying on the blanketed sandy shoreline…

“Well?” Her bottom lip bumped out.
“Wallace, it’s been eons since we swam together. I know it’s February, but still...”

He leaned in and sucked her little pout into his mouth
, taking note how the balmy weather seemed more like summer than winter. How the willow limbs hung thick with leaves instead of barren. How blossoms dotted the landscape… Even the water’s lazy flow beckoned him to dive in. “Anything you want, darlin’.”

“It’s settled then.”
She guided his chin until the tip of his tongue briefly wet her lips. She pushed back and practically bounced out of his arms. “Today’s perfect. Just as I imagined it would be. I’ve been dreaming about it, waiting to see you again.”

As she
slipped off her nylons, his voice deepened. “Me, too.”

She slid
out of her heels and tied her dress into a knot that rested on her leg mid thigh, but never dropped the flower. “We don’t have a blanket.”

He kicked off hi
s corframs, tied the shoestrings together, stuffed his socks inside, then rolled up his pant legs. “Let’s use my jacket.”

Her laugh
ter bubbled all around him and combined with the sweet essence of the garden. Of her. In ritual, she ripped off the flower head and tossed the stem aside. When they were fifteen, she’d claimed a petal trail would bring good luck and forever lead them back to their special place. And it always had.

Spellbound
as he followed her toward the shoreline, he opened the gate just as a cold breeze rushed up his back. He had the unnerving feeling they might never return here.

She slipped her hand in his and laced their fingers together.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Wallace. I knew you’d wait for me…”

“Anna,
I gave you my word that I’d wait for you forever…If nothing else, I’m an honorable man.”

She
shot him a wicked glance over her shoulder as they headed toward the brilliant sunrise. “A promise of the heart is a promise worth keeping.”

****

The sound of the creaking gate startled Clayton.

H
e shot up from the ground where he’d been hiding out, noting morning had started to make her appearance. Regardless, he bounded up and over the iron fence into the penned area and landed in the middle of something spongy underfoot.

Crouching, h
e could just make out little grey discs on the trail that led to the top of the hill. He yanked his flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on. The faded beam leached out over the ground.

Rose
petals soldiered upward toward the tree. He twisted and shone the beam behind him to light up the trail of petals that flowed down toward the closed gate.

He s
tood and stalked up the hill, looking for clues. He’d been wide awake, waiting. Had to be kids… But how had he missed teenagers? He’d only been one a decade ago, so he knew they were noisy…

Topside, he spun the
flashlight 360 degrees to see the glassy river below and the garden void of anyone other than still shadows. He hadn’t nodded off, not even for a minute, so how had this oddly decorative trail of petals been created?

Once
he was on the opposite side of the tree, his gaze whipped toward tree limbs—

He
jolted to a halt.

Braided again
. Half the darn tree. How could this have happened? He didn’t have two hours to unbraid branches when petals littered the landscape, too. Folks would be arriving in an hour. The estate owners demanded perfection and he did, too.

He was going to let everyone down, just like he’d let down Sarah…

Pacing in a tight circle, all he could think about was the mess that was the garden
and
his life. He didn’t know how to handle either.

D
istant laughter echoed around him.

He spun around.
Had to be sparrows or chickadees, since the garden wasn’t open to the public yet.

Mocking
birds, he concluded, though doubt seeped through him.

He
scooped one petal up after another, noting their delicate texture. The culprit had picked
his
roses, then littered them along the ground in waste. He followed the trail that led him back down the hillside and out the open gate.

More petals on the
aggregate path that ran along the outside perimeter of the hill and led to the river’s edge about a quarter mile downstream.

No one. Not a footprint in sight.

Puffing breath from the jog back, he returned to the tree. What was he missing?

The sun rose in the distance and illuminated a single green stem lying on
the cemetery headstone…the double plot of Captain Wallace Remy, whose plane had been shot down in WWII, and Mrs. Anna Remy, who’d been laid to rest just yesterday.

Clayton
slicked back his hood, removed his ball cap, and placed it over his chest. He inspected the seeded mulch layer that covered the loamy plot.

At least the
vandals had honored the dead, just as the visitors would when they honored their loved ones later today.

He crossed himself.

From his pocket, he took out a small painter’s brush and dusted off the headstone and froze
at the words that appeared as he cleaned.

As he read the inscription, a
woman’s joyful voice seemed to recite the message with him. “A promise of the heart is a promise worth keeping.”

He stumbled back
. Through blurry eyes, he compared the dates of the deceased. The couple had been separated since 1946 when Wallace Remy had been killed. Since then, Mrs. Remy had never married. She’d never even dated. Instead, according to the man who’d hired Clayton, she’d opened the estate to others every Valentine’s Day, as a tribute to her husband and the holiday that had always been important to them.