More Than Words Can Say (30 page)

And, as much as it pains me to think so, that is how it should be,
Greg thought.
I have no claim on that woman, no matter how much I might love her. Not only did she have every right to turn me away that afternoon atop Red Rock, she was correct to do so. Even so, not even the gin is helping to assuage the terrible pain I feel this night.

When he again looked over at Brooke’s cottage, this time his greatest fears were realized. One by one the interior lights were extinguished, leaving the little house bathed only in moonlight.

And so it is happening,
he thought.
But from where will I find the strength to endure this?

As he turned and looked out over the waves, his eyes again filled with tears.

C
HELSEA PUT DOWN
the journal and stared out at the ever-restless lake. Brandon could sense that she was upset, so he remained quiet, allowing her the first word. After picking up the journal and examining the telegram for a time, Brandon put the journal back down again. It was the first time he’d seen an actual telegram such as this one, and he soon found that its existence brought Brooke and Greg’s story into much sharper relief for him, just as he believed it had also done for Chelsea.

“That’s where the excerpt ends,” Chelsea said at last. “So Emily was right. Bill did come here to be with Brooke. And in all certainty they made love.”

When she finally turned to look at Brandon, her face was filled with sadness. “I can’t help but feel sorry for him,” she said quietly.

“For Greg?” Brandon asked.

Chelsea nodded. “And if Greg knew Bill was there, I can’t imagine how much pain it must have brought him.”

“I know,” Brandon said. “But he had no right to her.”

“Yes,” Chelsea answered. “I know that, too. But the heart wants what it wants, Brandon. That’s always been the way of things, and I suppose it always will be.”

“And that must have been the night your mother was conceived,” Brandon said.

“Yes,” Chelsea answered.

“But even now we don’t know how your grandfather Bill died,” Brandon mused. “Or why Brooke left here so suddenly and never returned. It’s still quite the puzzle.”

Chelsea nodded again. “In the end, we all just assumed that discussing Bill’s death was too painful for her, so we stopped asking.”

“Perhaps one of the last two entries will tell us,” Brandon said.

“Maybe,” Chelsea said. “But that’s not what I need just now.”

“No?” Brandon asked.

Chelsea stood from her chair. Lifting his chin, she kissed him slowly, languorously.

“No,” she whispered. “What I need tonight is you . . .”

As Brandon stood and took her into his arms, she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

Chapter 27

I
t is good to see you again,
ma chère,
” Emily Rousseau said to Chelsea. “I’m so glad that you called and asked to visit me.”

Two days later, Chelsea and Emily were sitting at Emily’s dining table, enjoying some mint tea and blueberry scones. Chelsea had called this morning, asking if she could come by. The lunch crowd had come and gone, but Emily’s waitresses and chef still remained to clean up and start preparing for tomorrow. Chelsea could occasionally hear noises coming from the floor below, confirming their presence.

After taking another sip of her tea, Emily smiled knowingly. “And unless I’m mistaken,” she added, “there is a glow about you that wasn’t there the first time we met. That wouldn’t have anything to do with your next-door neighbor, would it?”

Chelsea felt herself blushing. “Well, yes,” she answered. “As a matter of fact, it does. You’re very perceptive.”

“We women can sense things that men never see,” Emily answered with a smile. “Your grandmother, God rest her soul, no doubt had that same look about her one day. It would have been right after her husband had visited her at the cottage, just before he shipped out for England. Sadly, Bill died. But nine months later, Brooke was blessed with the birth of your mother. Then Brooke was involved in her awful accident, and everything changed for her yet again. That period in her life was a series of drastic ups and downs, poor thing.”

“That much I already know,” Chelsea said, “although I haven’t gotten through the entire journal.”

“Well,” Emily said, “I can’t know what the rest of Brooke’s writings might hold for you. More than I am able to offer, no doubt. But when you are done reading it, there is one thing that I would ask of you.”

“What is that?” Chelsea said.

“If you learn why Brooke left Lake Evergreen so suddenly that summer and never returned, I would very much appreciate knowing,” Emily answered. “I held our friendship so dear, and I could never understand her motives. Years later, during one of my visits to Syracuse, I did ask her why. She apologized but refused to elaborate. Because she was so adamant about it, I respected her privacy from that point on. But if you do learn why, please satisfy this old woman’s curiosity and tell me about it, would you?”

Chelsea reached out and patted Emily on the hand. “Of course,” she answered. “But the truth is, I was hoping that
you
could tell
me
about that. Was there in fact anyone else who knew her up here and is still among us?”

Emily shook her head. “Not that I know of,” she answered. “Even Gregory Butler once told me he did not know why she left so abruptly. He too seemed very hurt by her so sudden and unexplained departure. Perhaps it was because of Bill’s death that she went home so abruptly, but that still doesn’t explain why she didn’t bid either of us adieu or why she never returned. And I know that she very much cared for us both and that she could have had no reason to want to hurt us. All of which makes it only harder to understand.”

Disappointed, Chelsea sat back in her chair. Although she liked Emily very much, her hopes about learning more from her were quickly being dashed. She had been optimistic that Emily hadn’t told her all she knew the time before, because Brandon had been with her. But even now, Emily had little more to offer regarding Brooke Bartlett’s last days at Lake Evergreen.

Chelsea had called Emily that morning asking to see her, and Emily had eagerly agreed. Two days had passed since Chelsea and Brandon had climbed Red Rock Mountain. It had been a momentous day for them, and like any two new and infatuated lovers, they were deliriously happy. Last night they had again made love, more slowly and languorously this time, in Chelsea’s old sleigh bed as the moonlight highlighted their naked bodies. It had again been all that the two of them could have hoped for and more. And this time Brandon had stayed the night with Chelsea, and she had awakened in his arms.

But they had read no more of Brooke’s journal, largely because Chelsea decided that she first wanted to visit Emily and see if she could shed any more light on why Brooke left Lake Evergreen in the dead of night, never to return. Having spoken to Emily again, it now seemed to Chelsea that the only remaining answers were going to come from Brooke’s writings. But there were few entries left to read, leading Chelsea to wonder if the answers would ever surface at all. And so far as Chelsea and her mother knew, once Brooke returned to Syracuse for good, her journal writing had ended.

While taking another sip of her excellent mint tea, Chelsea looked around Emily’s five-room apartment. Located above the Blue Rooster, it was a lovely and comfortable place that seemed to suit Emily’s needs perfectly. Her only companion was her tricolored cat, Josephine, named after the illustrious wife of Napoleon, who at this moment was so eagerly rubbing her lithe body against Chelsea’s shins. There were many old photos in the apartment, most of which were of Emily’s long-dead parents. What photos Emily had of Brooke she had already shown to Chelsea, but they had provided no new information. Chelsea was about to give up and leave when another question occurred to her.

“The book you gave me,” she said to Emily. “The copy of
Leaves of Grass
with the two coneflowers pressed inside it—when did Brooke give it to you?”

Before answering, Emily took another bite of her scone. “Well,” she answered, “in a manner of speaking, she never actually
gave
it to me.”

Chelsea shot Emily a questioning look. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“As I told you last time, I was already familiar with the book,” Emily answered. “On the same day that your grandmother left here for good, I found the book on the back steps that lead up to this apartment. Brooke had carefully wrapped it in a paper bag and left it there for me to find. I could be certain that it was hers, because Greg’s inscription to her was written on the first page.”

Chelsea sat back in her chair, wondering. “And the two coneflowers?” she asked. “Did Brooke give you those at the same time?”

Emily nodded. “Yes,” she answered. “They lay under the front cover.”

“There was no note?” Chelsea asked.

“No,” Emily answered.

“Did you ever ask her why she gave them to you?”

“
Certainement,
” Emily answered. “But all she would say about it was that she wanted me to have them for safekeeping. And then she added something that I never quite understood.”

Chelsea leaned forward a bit. “And what was that?” she asked.

“That the flowers and the book were important to her,” Emily answered. “And so, as a way of keeping them together, I pressed the flowers deeper in the book, and they remained that way until I gave both the book and the flowers to you. When your grandmother gave me the flowers, they appeared to have been picked only hours before.”

Chelsea was surprised by that. “They weren’t already dried and pressed?” she asked.

“No,” Emily said. “I remember that part with certainty. The flowers grew old and dried in my care, not Brooke’s.”

Chelsea tried to deduce something from that but couldn’t. As she again looked around the apartment, another concern struck her.

“Forgive me for asking, Emily,” she said, “but what will become of the Blue Rooster when you’re gone? It’s such a wonderful place . . .”

Emily sighed and shook her head. “As you know,” she answered, “there is no one to follow me. I cannot say what will happen here, once I have gone to my reward.”

And then, despite the gravity of the subject, she smiled and gave Chelsea a mischievous wink. “But I refuse to worry about it,” she said. “Because I know that the moment I start, it will be the beginning of the end. And I plan on living forever!”

Chelsea couldn’t help but laugh. She cared for Emily, despite how briefly she had known her. As she thought some more about things, she smiled knowingly.

Coming to Lake Evergreen has enriched me far more than I could have ever imagined,
she thought.
In addition to my love for Brandon, I’ve also met some other wonderful people along the way. Not to mention all of the revelations I’ve discovered about Brooke and those that might still come. And to think that when Allistaire first told me I had inherited Gram’s old cottage, my initial reaction had been to perhaps sell it, without even seeing it first. Then I read Gram’s letter, and everything changed . . .

On noticing the faraway look in Chelsea’s eyes, Emily laid one of her old hands atop hers. “What is it,
ma
chère
?” she asked.

Chelsea smiled at her. “I was just thinking about how surprising life can be,” she said. “Had I not inherited Gram’s cottage, you and I would have never met. And I would have been the poorer for it, I assure you.”

“As I too would have been, my child,” Emily answered. “As I too would have been . . .”

Chapter 28

A
s her lovely old Chris-Craft sliced across the whitecaps of Lake Evergreen, Chelsea smiled. By now she and Brandon had taken
Beautiful Brooke
out several times, and Brandon had patiently taught Chelsea how to operate her. Provided the weather was good, Chelsea now had no qualms about taking her out alone.

Chelsea was about a hundred yards out into the lake and following the westerly shore toward the small cove that sheltered Beauregard’s. She had something she wanted to discuss with Jenny, something that she wanted no one else—not even Brandon—to know about yet. Of the people Chelsea had met here, Jenny seemed the most logical one to ask for advice. The day was so lovely that taking the boat to the diner seemed the most enjoyable way to go.

Smiling to herself, Chelsea added a bit more power to the inboard engine and heard its comforting growl strengthen. The old boat bounced a bit as Chelsea cut perpendicularly across the wake of another speedboat, just the way Brandon had taught her. To her delight, the other craft’s occupants waved at her and gave her the thumbs-up sign. Because there was no other craft on all of Lake Evergreen quite like
Beautiful Brooke,
whenever Chelsea took her out, there were many eager admirers. Suddenly a bit of spray flew up and over the windshield, splashing Chelsea lightly in the face. Laughing, she wiped her face with one palm and then pulled the bill of her ball cap a bit lower.

While pushing onward toward Beauregard’s, Chelsea couldn’t help but again think of her late grandmother. From what the Fabiennes had told her, Brooke had also very much enjoyed this boat. Brooke once sat at these very same controls that Chelsea now employed, felt the same wind through her hair and the same sun burnishing her face. Despite how much Chelsea loved the cottage, it was while skippering this boat that she felt closest to Brooke’s memory.

The morning had broken bright and clear. Chelsea and Brandon had again awakened together, and Chelsea had made Brandon some breakfast before he headed off to work. At first she had been unsure about how to spend her day, and so she had taken another cup of coffee out onto the porch to sit and think about it. After a time an idea came to her, causing her to smile.
It would take some planning,
she thought,
but it would make me very happy, I’m sure of it.
But she wanted some advice first, and Jenny would be the best one with whom to talk.