Lips That Touch Mine (17 page)

"You can do that right now." Claire stopped
in the hallway. "Dress my hair for me and we'll be even. I loathe
doing it."

"Really?"

"Really."

Anna followed Claire to her bedchamber
dressing table.

Thirty minutes later Anna pressed her palms
together, her face beaming with excitement as she eyed the
waterfall of ringlets cascading down the back of Claire's head and
shoulders. "I have just the thing to complement your hair."

She hurried out of the room, then returned
carrying a hair comb with a cluster of blue sapphires on it.

"My grandfather gave this to me, but the
sapphires get lost against my brown hair. I told Larry I lost it so
he wouldn't sell it, but I've kept it hidden in my reticule."

"I can't wear this, Anna."

"Sure you can."

"It's too expensive. I couldn't bear it if I
lost it."

"You won't lose it."

"Your grandfather gave this to you."

"He won't be at the cantata."

Claire laughed. "That's not the point and you
know it."

"Let me do this," Anna said, her voice
earnest. "Please. It looks beautiful in your hair and it makes me
feel good to share something so special with you."

This was all Anna could offer, the only gift
she could freely give. Claire's eyes misted. "This is...thank you,
Anna. I'm honored to wear it."

Anna stepped away from the dressing table and
peeked in Claire's closet. "Wear this blue velvet gown. It'll look
gorgeous with the sapphires."

"All right, but you must borrow a dress from
me." Claire dug through the closet and retrieved an emerald poplin
and silk gown that had belonged to her grandmother. Her grandmother
had worn it once each year the day after Thanksgiving. She'd never
told Claire why the gown was special, but she'd kept it cleaned and
protected for over fifty years. When Claire had found it in the
closet, she'd considered using the sicilienne material to make her
own gown, but hadn't been able to ruin her grandmother's favorite
dress.

"It's not the current fashion," she said,
"but if we add a flounce crinoline petticoat it may suffice."

"It's lovely as it is." Anna caught the soft
fabric between her fingers and slowly drew her hands down the
length of the skirt. A wide band of black velvet adorned the hem,
and inserts of black velvet graced each side of the skirt, ending
in two points. "I've never owned something so beautiful."

"My grandmother called it her magic dress. I
don't know why, but maybe it'll bring you some magic tonight."

Anna sighed. "I could certainly use it."

"It should fit you. My grandmother was tiny
like you."

"It'll fit. I can tell just by looking." She
clasped it to her bosom. "Are you sure you want me to wear it?"

"Positive." Claire sensed that her
grandmother would approve of Anna wearing her special gown.
Claire's own dress was more current, but not elaborate in style.
The tunic was made of sapphire-blue velvet, with matching
pomponnette velvet for the skirt.

Anna dressed her own hair, then they helped
each other into their gowns. When Anna pulled on the
emerald-colored dress, Claire stared at her.

"I can see why my grandmother called that her
magic dress. You're beautiful, Anna."

Anna's eyes misted and she smoothed her palms
down the bodice. "I can almost feel pretty again."

The bruises on Anna's arms were covered by
the long fitted sleeves, but a hint of yellow still rode her
cheekbone where Claire suspected Larry had struck her. No woman
with such bruises could feel beautiful; Claire knew that firsthand.
To see Anna take such pleasure in wearing the gown filled Claire's
heart with both joy and pain. Anna was beautiful. She shouldn't
need a dress to make her feel that way.

"You are pretty, Anna. And you deserve to
wear beautiful dresses and go out for an enjoyable evening'."
Claire curtsied to her friend, hoping to lighten the evening.
"Let's dance our way to the cantata."

A tender smile tipped Anna's lips.

"Come along." Claire fanned her skirt and
twirled in a circle. "We're going dancing," she said, dipping and
swaying as she swept into the hallway and descended the stairs.

Anna followed her into the foyer.

"We can dance down Main Street," Claire said,
taking their coats from the closet.

Anna finally laughed.

Claire's heart lifted. As hard as her life
with Jack had been, she had survived without too many scars. Anna's
situation was far more painful because Larry was still alive.

Claire handed Anna's coat to her. "Let's
pretend we are rich, independent women tonight. We can do or say
anything we like."

"Let's do it." Anna buttoned her coat and
waltzed onto the porch with forced gaiety.

They left the house and chatted all the way
to Union Hall.

Claire paid their admission and reminded
herself not to think about her last eight dollars. She could worry
about her desperate circumstances tomorrow. Tonight she wanted to
escape her past and her present, to exist in a place of safety and
joy.

Claire
and Anna hung their coats, then headed into the main room of the
hall. Floor-to-ceiling arched windows dressed with garnet-colored
velvet draperies lined the north and south walls. A massive, gas
lit chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room and
casting a warm yellow glow on the crowd gathered below.

The excitement of the evening was palpable in
the air, and Claire breathed it in. She was so thankful not to be
spending another evening alone in her boardinghouse. The cavernous
hall hummed with excited chatter and the rustling of evening
gowns.

Anna tapped her elbow. "Our neighbor has
spotted you." She gestured to a small cluster of men and ladies
standing less than ten feet away.

Claire looked straight into Boyd Grayson's
seductive eyes. A hint of a smile lifted his lips, and he nodded
his head.

She returned his silent greeting, but noticed
a female hand tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Her gaze shifted up to a tantalizing bare
shoulder and a delicate, exotic face. The woman's hair was piled
high on her head in a mass of ebony curls that spilled down her
neck to her shoulder blades. She smiled at one of the men beside
her, and the sharp claw of jealousy clutched Claire's chest. The
woman was beyond beautiful.

An odd sickness filled her stomach, and she
dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. So what if Boyd was with a
lady. Despite the woman's beauty, she was probably just one of many
for him. Beautiful women flocked to men like Boyd. Like Jack.
Claire had given up trying to compete with those ladies long
ago.

She wouldn't deny that she was attracted to
her handsome neighbor, but she was smart enough to ignore it.

Boyd lifted his hand and beckoned her and
Anna to join him and his group of friends. Claire didn't want to
meet the pretty lady on Boyd's arm, but she forced herself to move
forward.

Boyd clasped Anna's hands. "You're
breathtaking, Anna. Marry me," he joked.

She glanced at Claire. "This really is a
magic dress."

Claire smiled, glad that Anna hadn't flinched
away from Boyd's gentle teasing.

"How are you, Anna?" he asked, concern
replacing his flirtatious smile.

"Fine," she said quietly. "Claire is good
medicine for me."

"I'm sure." He reached out and caught
Claire's hand. "I'm glad to see you out this evening."

The woman he was standing with turned and
eyed Claire with open curiosity.

"This is Anna Levens and my neighbor Claire
Ashier. Ladies, this is Martha Newmaine from Buffalo." Martha shot
a sidelong glance at Boyd, then greeted Anna, but her gaze lingered
on Claire. "Are you the lady who started the movement to close the
saloons?"

"Dr. Lewis did that, but I'm doing my best to
help him succeed."

To her surprise, Miss Newmaine smiled. "I've
heard that your...efforts are upsetting the saloon owners." She
turned her beautiful brown eyes toward Boyd, a teasing smile on her
face. "Are you going to close your saloon for her?"

A lazy grin touched his lips. "I'm afraid
not. I wouldn't even do it for you, darling."

Her smile widened and she rubbed the sleeve
of his suit coat. "What if I threaten to spill our secret?"

"Then I'll return you to Buffalo."

She laughed and turned back to Claire. "I'm
not ready to take a train home just yet, so I'm afraid you'll have
to fight this battle on your own."

"On the contrary, Miss Newmaine. There are
over three hundred of us working for temperance in our community.
We'll succeed."

Martha flashed a stunning smile at Boyd. "If
that's the case, you'll have to come to Buffalo to open a
saloon."

Unwilling to witness their flirtation, Claire
nodded to Martha and Boyd. "If you'll excuse us, the cantata is
about to begin," she said.

"I'll escort you ladies to your seats," Boyd
suggested, capturing Claire's hand. He tucked it into the crook of
his elbow, then glanced at Martha. "I'll be right back for you."
She nodded, and he gave his other elbow to Anna, who took it
willingly.

Claire tried to pull away, but he drew his
elbow against his side, trapping her fingers against his ribs. He
tipped his head and put his mouth near her ear. "You're stunning
tonight."

"So is your companion, Mr. Grayson."

"She is magnificent, isn't she?"

She was, but Claire was too shocked by his
blatant admission, and her own hurt reaction, to answer.

"I'm surprised to see you and Anna here," he
went on.

She found it more surprising to see him here,
and with that gorgeous female hanging on his arm, but she said
nothing. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want another
word with the charming, self-satisfied flirt. Because every word
hurt.

He stopped and guided her into the row where
Anna had quickly seated herself. Claire sat in the end seat beside
her. She breathed a sigh of relief when Boyd left, but to her
irritation, he guided Martha into the seats directly across the
row. He sat in the end chair and nodded to Claire who was sitting a
mere three feet away from him.

To avoid looking at him, she turned and
engaged Anna in conversation, hoping their chatting would calm both
of them.

Suddenly, forty people gathered at the front
of the hall. Their joyful singing filled the room and flowed
through Claire. She closed her eyes and listened with her whole
being, letting the song lift her. This was worth her precious
money.

The solo singer Estella came on stage,
singing with such power and beauty, Claire was mesmerized by the
performance. Estella hosted a make-believe party, and invited the
male singers. To entertain the ladies, the men battled with pretend
snowballs, which made Claire think of her childhood and of the
unfettered joy she had once felt romping in the snow with her
sister and friends.

The talented group of singers and their
performance captivated her.

Estella's true love William, defeated
Jenkins, the man who was planning to propose to Estella. Watching
Jenkins try to win Estella's affection made Claire and the audience
laugh.

Later, when Estella and William slipped away
to express their love for one another, Claire's heart felt achingly
empty. Despite her hoydenish ways as a young girl, she'd dreamed of
a dashing prince who would fall in love with her. She imagined him
to be tall with dark hair and sparkling eyes that promised passion.
He would be her strength and her weakness, her lover and her
friend, her slayer of dragons. He would enjoy her too-forward
manner, and laugh at her dry sense of humor. Their days would be
filled with sunshine and laughter, their nights with whispers and
passion.

The young girl in her still believed that man
existed, still hoped that he could rescue her from living a scared,
dull life.

But the woman in her knew it was a fairy
tale, a dream, and that any joy in her life would be of her own
making.

As the cantata was ending, William and
Estella came upon Jenkins, who, not succeeding in gaining Estella's
heart, concluded to marry Araminta, one of the singers. The
audience smiled and sighed with satisfaction as forty voices rose
in a good night chorus to finish the performance.

Claire slipped her hand into her pocket and
squeezed the little carving in her palm. She listened to the
singers' beautiful voices while she dreamed of love, of a more
youthful and hopeful time of her life. What if Jack had been kind,
if he'd really loved her? Would she, like her grandmother and
Estella, still feel drawn to another man? Would she still feel
drawn to Boyd Grayson, or would she be content as Jack's wife?

The gas stage-lighting cast a glow across the
audience's upturned faces. Claire glanced at Boyd, but he wasn't
watching the performance. He was looking at her.

Warmth surged through her chest, and she
clenched her hand around the carving. Why was he looking at her
when Martha was sitting beside him?

His face was half in shadow, and his eyes
were dark, but she saw his lips lift in a smile—for her. There was
no one else in the shadowed room he could be smiling at.

With his dark coloring and handsome face,
Boyd could be the prince she'd once imagined. But the prince she
imagined would never have taken her to a cemetery on Christmas Eve.
Of all the unromantic things in the world to do, Boyd had chosen
the one thing that had touched her the deepest. Somehow he was
finding every way possible to wrench open her heart. He was giving
her gifts she couldn't refuse, making her laugh when she wanted to
cry, filling her lonely house with his and Sailor's silly
antics.

What she had once felt for Jack in the
earliest days couldn't come close to all the ways Boyd had already
touched her heart with his smile, his charm, his silly dog, and his
art.