Diamonds and Dreams (22 page)

“He doesn’t know what he’s sayin’.”

“Still, what does he say?”

“Well, you know. Mean stuff.”

“Goldie, you’re staring at the sky. Will you
please look at me?”

She gave him her attention. “Are you mad at
me?”

“Mad?” This wasn’t the first time she’d
worried about him being angry at her. It baffled him. “Goldie, why
would I be mad at you?”

She ran her hand over a dandelion bed before
answering. “For starin’ at the sky.”

“For staring at... Why would that anger
me?”

“I—Because I wasn’t givin’ you my full
attention,” she tried to explain. “Actually though, I
was
givin’ you my full attention, Saber. I was just starin’ at the sky
at the same time.”

He took a moment to think about that. “And
would your uncle have been angered at you for staring at the sky?”
At her hesitant nod, something tender swept through him. “Goldie,
what does your uncle say to you when he’s angry?”

Pain clutched her heart. “Do you know what
stertor
means?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m well aware of the
fact that you are changing the subject.”

“You don’t know what it means, do you?”

“It’s the act of making a snoring
sound.”

“And do you do any stertorin’ when you’re
sleepin’?”

He stared at her for a long while. “Since
you’re so intent on playing your word game, allow me to ask you a
word. What is
vituperation
?”

She breathed a sigh of relief that he’d
apparently forgotten what they’d been discussing. “Vituperation?
Well, I don’t have my dictionary out here with me, but it sorta
sounds like a spittin’ word. Does it mean to spit?”

“Vituperation is constant and bitter
scolding and denunciation. When you vituperate someone, you are
berating that person in an abusive manner. You would probably yell
and use harsh words.”

Goldie tried to smile nonchalantly, but
didn’t manage to succeed. He knew, she realized. He knew what she
herself was always trying to forget. Lord, he was smart. So smart
that he’d backed her into a corner without her ever suspecting.

“Goldie, I see no need to explain the word
any further,” Saber said. “I can see by that weak smile of yours
that you understand exactly what I’m hinting at. I’m asking you to
confide in me. Is that so terrible?”

Yes, she answered silently. She wanted no
one’s pity, especially not Saber’s. “Saber, we need to get on with
the duke lessons. I brought one of Aunt Delia’s diaries out here
with me, and we’ll read what she says about dukish people.” She
withdrew a small book from her dress pocket.

Saber felt a surge of excitement at the
sight of the diary. But it faded immediately when he saw Goldie run
her fingers over the cover of the book. Her hand was trembling.
Though he was desperate to read Delia’s journals, he couldn’t
dismiss the significance of those pale, quivering fingers.

“We can read the diary in just a moment,
Goldie. But right now, I want to discuss the
mean
stuff
—”

“Uncle Asa’s only mean when he’s been
drinkin’. I ignore what he says.”

“If you ignore him, then why do the memories
of his words cause such distressing reactions in you?” he fenced,
his concern growing. “Tell me this, Goldie. Does your uncle strike
you?”

“No! He’s never hit me. Not ever. He...Uncle
Asa loves me. Deep down inside, he loves me. I know he does.
Really.”

Saber was unconvinced. “How can you be so
sure?”

“Because when he’s sober he tries to make up
for the things he says. I told you that, Saber.”

He watched her carefully. She was winding a
gold curl around her little finger, pulling the hair so tight that
the tip of her finger turned white. It was obvious to him that
though this Asa character acted remorseful when sober, his
treatment of Goldie while drunk had left deep scars. Her very
reluctance to discuss it tended to prove that fact.

“Why won’t you talk about it, Goldie?”

“It’s not important. Besides, other people
have been meaner to me than Uncle Asa, and they weren’t even drunk.
Ole Burnell Firt, down in—I can’t remember where. But ole Burnell
once told me that my freckles made me look like I had a disease.
And Naomi Gumm down in Gumm, Kentucky, said I had devil eyes. Said
only devil people had yellow eyes. Naomi’s daddy owned the town, so
she could be as mean as she wanted, and nobody ever told her to
stop. And Mathilda Snodgrass, who was Naomi’s best friend, and
whose mama was somehow related to one of the gardeners at the White
House, said my hair looked like somethin’ a dog had been shakin’
around all day. Mathilda was a snooty sort. Probably because she
had connections in the White House. So y’see? Uncle Asa’s not as
mean as all that.”

Saber saw all right. He saw her attempt at
lightheartedness. He saw her fail at it, too. She was trying to
make him believe that none of those insults bothered her. But
didn’t she realize he could see the pain sweep into her eyes? It
seemed to him her eyes would sting with it.

He wondered what kind of silver lining she
found in shouldering such pain, but chose not to ask her. She was
nervous enough right now.

“I do try to tame my hair,” Goldie assured
him, reaching up to smooth back the springy curls. “But it won’t
mind me. I used to wear a hat, but it blew off one day and slid
down the street. By the time I caught up with it, it was the
raggediest-lookin’ thing you ever saw. I asked Uncle Asa if I could
have another one, but he—”

She broke off abruptly, and Saber reached
for her hand without realizing he had. When he saw her slender
fingers lying within his palm, he had a thought to release them.
But they were trembling again, and that decided it for him. Not
only did he keep holding her hand, he grasped it more firmly.

“Your uncle refused to buy you another hat,
didn’t he, Goldie?”

She nodded, struck mute for a moment by the
gentleness she perceived in his deep and velvety voice. How it
touched her. How tenderly it enfolded her senses. And how
desperately she longed to respond to it!
Say somethin’
witty
, she told herself.
Somethin’ wonderfully clever like
other girls do.

“I—Your voice—You have such a nice voice.
When I hear it, it kinda makes me think of chocolate. I’ve only had
hot chocolate once, but I never forgot the way it tastes. It’s
thick and sweet...and rich. It’s the kind of flavor that makes you
want to close your eyes while you’re tastin’ it. You have a
chocolate voice, Saber.”

Her sentiment made him smile. It was a
simple compliment, but she’d spoken it with such sincerity and
sweetness, he decided it was quite the nicest thing anyone had ever
said to him. And it was amusing, too. He had seaweed eyes and a
chocolate voice. A low chuckle rose in his throat.

Goldie heard his quiet laughter, and felt
her cheeks redden. She’d told him he had a chocolate voice. A
chocolate voice? Whoever heard of such a thing? That wasn’t
wonderfully witty, it was
dumb
! Embarrassed, she began to
turn away.

Saber reached up, catching her dainty chin.
Mesmerized by the golden splendor of her eyes and the delightful
way her beautiful hair glistened about her tiny face, he could not
take his gaze away from her. She was so delicate, this little
person called Goldie. So petite that he felt certain she’d never
keep her feet on the ground should she be caught in a strong wind.
The thought made him want to hold her, shelter her within the
circle of his arms. That something tender inside him swelled again.
Without warning, the desire to kiss her seized him. Her full, pink
lips looked so soft to him.

He thought of Fred Wattle. Fred had kissed
those soft lips and laughed. “Fred Wattle was an imbecile.”

His abrupt and unrelated statement made
Goldie frown. She took a moment to try and understand what had
prompted Saber to say such a thing. “You don’t even know him.”

Was she defending the blackguard? Saber
wondered. Jealousy stung him. He scowled when he recognized it. He
hadn’t felt it in years, but hadn’t forgotten the way it began in
the pit of his belly, spread, and soon coursed through him. He
clenched his jaw against it. He had no reason whatsoever to be
jealous. Like Goldie had said, he didn’t even know the brainless
Fred Wattle. And what did it matter that the man had kissed Goldie
anyway?

Furious at himself and his damnable
emotions, he pulled his hand away from Goldie’s and stood. Gazing
down at her, he realized he still felt the desire to take her into
his arms. His anger at himself had done nothing to change that.
God, he had to get away from her. If he didn’t... “I’m taking
Yardley out for a while,” he informed her curtly.

She rose, swiping bits of grass from her
brown skirt. “And I’ll take out Dammit.”

“No.”

His immediate refusal to allow her to come
made her ache. Only with extreme effort did she keep her voice even
and normal. “Yes, of course, you’re right,” she agreed quickly. “I
can’t go ridin’ now. I—Big needs help changin’ the bed sheets.”

She turned toward the mansion and ran as
fast as her legs could take her, Itchie Bon close beside her. Tears
blinded her, and she stumbled on a rock. She didn’t fall, but her
near-spill mortified her, for she knew Saber had seen it.

I’m so clumsy! Just like Uncle Asa
says!
Her cheeks burning with shame, she flew up the steps that
led to the front door. Throwing it open, she raced up the winding
staircase. She missed a step and fell to her knees, clutching the
railing so she wouldn’t fall further. “Chocolate voice,” she
moaned, her fist at her mouth. “How could I have said somethin’ so
stupid?” Choking on a sob, she fled to her bedroom. Itchie Bon
barely made it into the room before the door closed with a
resounding slam. Her nose pressed against it, Goldie stood there
for many moments before turning around. The first thing she saw was
the mirror.

Hesitantly, she approached the big,
gilt-framed looking glass. It wasn’t just a face mirror. It was
nearly as tall as the wall, reflecting her full length. Full
length, she thought. Full, nothing. She looked like an
eleven-year-old child. Twelve, if she stood on her tiptoes. Staring
at her image, she saw herself as Saber probably did.

Her dress, patched in many places, was four
years old. Or was it five? “Four, five, what difference does it
make, Itchie Bon?” she said in a broken whisper. “It’s ugly. Brown.
Plain, ugly brown. Stitched up and mended all over. I know it’s the
ugliest thing he’s ever laid his beautiful eyes on.”

She tore the hateful garment off, ripping it
in the process. It landed on her foot; she kicked it across the
room and looked back into the mirror. The sight of her nakedness
made her eyes widen. Never having had such a big mirror before,
she’d never seen her entire body at one time. And since arriving at
Leighwood, it hadn’t occurred to her to use
this
one for
that specific purpose. She didn’t like what she saw.

Sniffling, she remembered her Uncle Asa once
saying that Melba Potts, down in Sugar Meadows, Alabama, had
breasts like ripe melons. She hadn’t understood what he meant then,
but she did now. Melons were full. Round. Big. She brought her
hands up to her own breasts.

“Figs,” she murmured. “Little, unripened
figs.”

Her hands fell to her sides. She looked at
her flat stomach. Her slight hips, slim legs, tiny ankles, and
little feet. Turning a bit, she studied her small bottom. “Oh,
Itchie Bon, there’s just nothin’ at all to me. No curves. No
softness. Just skin-covered littleness. No wonder he called me a
doll.”

She walked closer to the mirror, examined
her face, and decided her eyes were too big, her nose too small.
She thought she had good eyebrows, though. They arched gently above
her eyes and were darker than her hair. “But men don’t fall in love
with a pair of eyebrows, Itchie Bon. And they don’t like yellow
eyes either.”

Yellow eyes. Whoever heard of such a thing?
And yet they were yellow. Not bright yellow like dandelions, but
they
were
yellow. “Big says they’re gold with flecks of warm
brown, but whoever heard of brown-speckled gold eyes either? Oh,
why couldn’t I have blue eyes? Not plain blue, but sky-blue. The
kind Ruthie Applegate, down in Smallville, North Carolina, had? And
Ruthie knew just how to use those robin’s-egg eyes of hers, too,
Itchie Bon. She batted ’em, and flitted ’em from spot to spot. She
could even make ’em change color. Dependin’ on her mood, they’d go
from pale and shimmery to dark and smoky. Boys loved Ruthie’s
eyes.

“They made fun of mine,” she squeaked. “One
boy even made up a chant about ’em. It went, ‘Yellow eyes, yellow
eyes, Goldie’s ugly no matter what she tries.’ “

More tears welled, blurring her mirrored
image. She rubbed them away, then stared at her hair. It had grass
in it. A small leaf, too. Her hair was like a net. It caught
everything flying around in the air, and those things stayed there
until she found and pulled them out. Now, if something flew into
normal
hair—the long, smooth, and silky kind—it slipped out
right away.

“Once a bee got into mine,” she informed her
mongrel, who sat wagging his tail at her. “It was buzzin’ all
around, tryin’ to get free, but it was trapped. I knew it would
sting me if I pulled it out, so I put my head in a bucket of water
and tried to drown it first. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t
kill it, Itchie Bon, and it
did
sting me when I finally
pulled it out. All the kids...they thought it was so funny.”

She pulled on a ringlet. When she let it go,
it sprang right back into a tight little coil. “If Saber were to
try and run his fingers through this wild mess, his hand would get
stuck for sure,” she mumbled.