Diamonds and Dreams (45 page)

When she tried to roll away from him, Saber
held onto her, turning her face up to his. Wariness mingled with
the tears in her huge amber eyes was what he saw. The sight filled
him with comprehension and compassion. “This isn’t a dream, Goldie.
Touch me,” he commanded, picking up her hand and placing it over
his heart. “I’m real. I’m not some dream that’s going to vanish if
you blink.”

Skepticism tainted her earlier happiness.
She bit her bottom lip, struggling to hold back a flood of fresh
tears. “I want to believe you, Saber.”

“Then do. Believe what I’m telling you,
Goldie. Say it. Say you believe me.”

“Yes. I believe you.”

There wasn’t a shred of conviction in her
answer, he noted furiously. She said it only because he’d forced
her to. Battling his anger, he thought about her feelings of
unworthiness. Her belief that her dreams wouldn’t come true until
she deserved them.

Dear God, he’d never known a more deserving
girl than Goldie.

It tore at him that she thought herself
unworthy of love. The very thing she needed, the very thing he
wanted so desperately to give her. But what could he do? It had
taken years for such feelings to become so firmly rooted. How long
would it take him to destroy them?

She’d given him so much of herself, he
thought. And if it was selfish for him to want even more, then he
was the greediest man on earth. He craved that part of her heart
she kept guarded from him. And he knew in his own heart that he
would never cease trying to earn it.

“Very well, Goldie, we won’t talk about it.
Not until you’re ready. But do something for me, poppet.”

Her emotions were so tangled, she could
barely understand what he was saying. “What do you want me to
do?”

Reaching for the bedcovers, he drew them
over her and himself, then settled her comfortably in his arms.
“Cry. Cry for me, Goldie. I won’t be infuriated. I won’t tell you
to stop. If you cry all night, I’ll keep holding you. I’ll not let
you go until you ask me to.”

She frowned at him. “But why?”

His answer was slow in coming, not because
he didn’t know what to say, but because it was a moment before the
words in his heart rose to his lips. “Because, Goldie, no one else
has ever let you do it.”

His answer folded around a place so deep
inside her, she knew it could only be the heart of her soul. Its
very poignancy awakened the sorrow he’d asked her to release.
Pressing her face against him, she bathed his bare chest with her
warm tears, and felt all her painful secrets escaping her. “It all
goes away,” she sobbed, her entire body shaking. “Every nice
thing,” she squeaked, unable to stop the words from coming. “Every
wish, every dream...everything. Saber, it all goes away before I
can hold it!”

“I know, poppet,” he cooed, brushing her
hair with his fingers. “I know.”

“I try,” she sputtered. “I try so hard to
hold onto it before it disappears! But I never can! Oh, Saber, all
I can do is touch it, feel it, and want it more than ever. And
then—Then it’s gone.”

He said nothing to her, but only let her cry
and tell him what she would.

“Almost everyone I’ve ever known has made
fun of me, been mean to me,” she whispered through her tears. “It
hurt. So much. But at least those people weren’t my family. At
least they were only strangers. But Uncle Asa—He—”

She broke off for a moment, struggling
unsuccessfully with more tears. “I was eight when Mrs. Granger gave
me the tree.” She wept piteously. “Mrs. Granger was one of the only
people I can remember who never said anything ugly to me. The
tree—It was only a saplin’, but she promised me it would grow. It
was a magnolia. And magnolia blossoms—They’re so big, so creamy.
They smell sorta like lemons. I planted the tree, Saber. I planted
it right, too. It never even wilted. I watered it every day, and I
talked to it. It began to grow.

“And then,” she continued, crying harder,
her slight body quivering, “one night Uncle Asa got mad at me. He
was drunk and couldn’t find his red shirt. He said I’d lost it. But
Saber, I had no idea where it was! Uncle Asa said I was bad. He got
his axe, and...and he chopped down my tree! He—He said that until I
started behavin’ myself I couldn’t have anything that made me
happy! He—Oh, Saber, he killed my little tree!”

Saber was enraged, but tempered his fury. He
didn’t move, he said nothing. He merely waited to hear more of her
wrenching memories.

“The next day,” she cried, “he said he was
sorry. He even tried to mend my tree with a strip of cloth. But it
was too late. The tree never came back. I never got another
one.”

“Oh, Goldie,” Saber whispered, his heart
twisting at the thought of all she’d loved and lost.

“And then, when I was ten, I found a hurt
bird,” she told him, grief saturating her voice. “His wing was
broken, but I fixed it with two sticks and a bandage. I even made a
cage, and put him inside so it could heal. I loved that bird,
Saber. I named him Woodrow, and he was more than a pet. He was my
friend. He even ate worms right from my fingers. But Uncle Asa—He
hated Woodrow. He said Woodrow kept him awake at night with all of
his squawkin’ and flappin’ around. He...He let Woodrow go. I didn’t
know he’d done it until I came home from shoppin’ and found the
cage in the yard. Woodrow—My poor Woodrow, Saber. Hoppin’ around
somewhere, with no way of gettin’ the sticks and bandage off his
wing. He died. I know Woodrow died.

“I cried so hard. I cried for days. Uncle
Asa was so sick of my wailin’, he left home and didn’t come back
for a week. When I saw him again, he apologized. But he told me
that fancy things like birds in cages were only for rich folks
anyway. I couldn’t understand that. Couldn’t understand why folks
with money were the only ones who could have nice stuff. Besides,
Woodrow was only a wild bird. I hadn’t paid for him, and his cage
was made of twigs. But I couldn’t have him. I—Uncle Asa wouldn’t
let me.”

She dabbed at her eyes with the sheet. “I
wanted to stay mad at him, Saber. I wanted so much to hate him for
everything he did to me. But he always said he was sorry, and I
knew he really was. There’s good in him. I know it. I feel it. I
only wish, though, that...”

“What, Goldie? What do you wish?”

“I—I wish I could forget the bad things
about him. I’ve tried so hard not to remember ’em. But even after
I’ve forgiven him for the things he says and does, I can’t forget
the hurt. I’ve wondered what the good thing is about his mean side.
I keep tellin’ myself some kind of good comes from his screamin’
and all the things he does to me. But I can’t. Can’t find the good
thing no matter how hard I try.”

Anger boiled inside Saber, but he refused to
let her see it. “Let’s try to understand the good about it,” he
told her gently. “Let’s—”

“There’s nothin’ good about it. For all my
talk about findin’ the silver linin’—I’m sorry for lyin’ to you,
Saber. Sorry for actin’ like there wasn’t anything wrong in my
life. But I didn’t want you to pity me, y’see. I would have hated
that, and I hope it’s not what you’re doin’ now.”

He knew full well what it had taken for her
to admit to the bad things in her life. She was so proud, his
little poppet called Goldie, and it meant the world to him that
she’d confided in him tonight. “Goldie, love,” he murmured, “how
was it possible for you to keep loving a man like your uncle?”

“He was the only thing in my life that
didn’t go away. The only thing that stayed with me. He was the one
thing I could reach for, touch, and hold onto. The other mean
people I’ve known, they’ve come and gone. But Uncle Asa was always
there.”

“But what about Big? He’s stayed with you,
Goldie. He hasn’t left, and he hasn’t—”

“You and Big are my best friends. But
Big—Saber, Big feels like my father. But he’s not my father, and
I’m not his daughter. I know I mean a lot to him, but one day he’s
gonna leave me. I know in my heart he will. He’s not tied to me in
anyway, y’see. He’s gonna find a job, a woman, or a place he loves.
And when he does, I’ve got to make him go. I can’t stand the
thought of him stayin’ with me out of loyalty. Or pity. I could
never let him do that.”

He held her tenderly when another wave of
her tears came. He felt terribly helpless and thought about telling
her he loved her again. But he knew in his heart she wouldn’t
believe him. He realized then the time for words was over. What she
needed most now was rest.

“Go to sleep now, Goldie. Close your eyes
and go to sleep.” While he sheltered her trembling body next to his
own, a lullaby came to him from the deepest recesses of his mind.
He hadn’t sung in years, but he did now. For her. For Goldie.
Quietly, soothingly, he sang until her tears ceased, her body
relaxed. He remembered the peace he felt as a child when his mother
sang him this lullaby, and hoped he was bringing Goldie the same
tranquility now.

When her breathing slowed, he realized she
was asleep. In the pools of her tears, the violets, and his own
frustration, he lay silently beside her, his hand still smoothing
her curls. “Diamond dreams,” he remembered aloud, thinking about
the irony of it all. “The one thing you want most in the world is
love. The kind of love that never wavers, not even for an instant.
You long for enduring love.
That
is your diamond dream,
isn’t it, poppet? And the night you were lost in the maze, when you
told me you planned to have twelve children—you didn’t mention a
husband because you have no belief whatsoever you will ever have
one.”

He closed his eyes. “And you don’t believe
me either. I love you, and you refuse to believe me. But then I
don’t really know if it’s
my
love you want. You said I was
your best friend. But is friendship all you feel for me, Goldie?”
he asked, his heart constricting. “Does it go any deeper?”

He held her for a while longer, but knew he
couldn’t stay. The aunties would see him in here with her. With a
great sigh, he rose and dressed. “I love you, Goldie,” he whispered
to her before leaving, “I love you, and I will never cease trying
to make you believe that.”

Turning his head, he peered out the window.
Cynicism rose within him as he stared at the heavens. “Dream
Giver,” he muttered to the star-sprinkled sky. “She said that’s who
You are. But You’ve never given her anything. You’ve allowed
heartache after heartache to befall her. I’m going to change that.
With or without Your help. If You won’t live up to the name she
calls you, then I will.
I
will be her dream giver.”

His vow spoken, he left her room, closing
her door quietly behind him.

Diggory grabbed Og’s shirt, slamming him
against the blackened wall of the fetid East End alleyway. “Wot do
ya mean
ya didn’t get ’er?”
he demanded. “Wasn’t she the
one? Dammit, Og, ya said ya’d seen ’er! Ya said ya’d met a
yellow-’aired girl wot talked like she weren’t from ’ere! Ya said
ya followed Rosie an’ learned where the girl’s livin’! Ya—”

“Diggory—”

“Ya said ya could do the job, Og! So wot the
bloody ’ell do ya mean
ya didn’t get ’er!”

The rage in Diggory’s eyes chilled Og down
to the very marrow of his bones. “I
did
follows ’er! She’s
at that big ’ouse on the corner o’ Pickerin’ an’ Landon! I tell ya,
Diggory, I was closer to ’er than God’s curse is to a ’ore’s arse,
I was! But—But I missed! The swell with ’er, ’e pushed ’er down
afore I—”

“Then why the bloody ’ell didn’t ya shoot
the scabby swell too!”

“‘E ’ad a dog!” Og yelled “The mongrel—”

“Wot?” Diggory roared. “Ya let the bitch get
away because ya was afeared of a
dog!
Ya friggin’
prick!”

“I’ll goes after ’er again! I’ll—”

“Ya thinks I got a case o’ the flamin’
simples, Og?” Diggory exploded. “I’ll take care o’ the skirt
meself, ya twaddlin’ looby!” With petrifying speed he pulled out
his knife. “Wot’s me name?”

Og went rigid. “Diggory. Diggory
Ferris.”

“Wot’s me other name?”

“The—The Butcher.”

Diggory smiled and lifted the blade.

Og never even had time to scream.

* * *

“Come away from the window, my dear,” Clara
instructed Goldie. “Saber had business to attend to this morning.
It will be several hours before he returns. Come sit down, and we
will continue discussing cards and calls.”

“He’s been gone all day for four whole
days,” Goldie murmured, watching the street from the drawing-room
window. The last time she’d seen him for more then ten minutes, she
mused, blushing, was the night they’d made love.

When Saber had told her he loved her.

“I’m sure his activities are important ones,
Goldie,” Lucille stated, giving her sister a secret, knowing
smile.

Clara caressed her reticule. “
Very
important,” she agreed, returning Lucille’s mischievous grin.

Goldie turned away from the window.
Absently, she walked around the room, trailing her finger along all
the elaborate furnishings she passed.
From the moment I met you,
Goldie, you have been a part of my life.
She stopped in front
of a mirrored cabinet, Saber’s whispered words drifting through her
mind.

“Social cards are always engraved in fine
copperplate, Goldie,” Lucille informed her. “Printed ones are
absolutely forbidden.”

“They are usually snowy-white,” Clara
elaborated, “But cream-colored ones are acceptable. However, if you
leave your card with a family who is in mourning, the card must be
edged in black. This is a message of sympathy. A lady carries her
cards at all times. If you should be invited to a social engagement
such as a dinner at someone’s home, you may leave your card in the
card holder in the entryway as you leave their house. This is an
invitation for your hostess to call on you.”