Under the Moon Gate (27 page)

“I ought to lock you in the stocks and pillory,” Patience chided as they walked toward the nineteenth-century restored Town Hall.

Nathaniel liked the harbor-front town, felt comfortable there with the open sea all around him.

She noticed him looking toward the sea.

“There’s a lot to do here. Really. I’m not trying to get rid of you, but I’m going to be tied up for a long time. I can recommend some attractions. You can go to Ordnance Island and see the full-size replica of the original
Deliverance
. I know
you’d enjoy that.”

“No way am I letting you out of my sight,” he warned.

“Maybe if there’s time after the meeting, I’ll show you around. It’s what I do best.”

Nathaniel touched his lips to hers and gently but insistently stroked them with his tongue.

“I don’t think that’s what you do best, Patience.”

“Nathaniel,” she pleaded, stirred, as she tried to twist away from him. “We’re in a public place, and you are supposed to be my
cousin
. There are a lot of very important people coming to this meeting—bankers, businessmen,
the mayor
. My friends. Someone might see us.”

“I forgot,” he said, smiling. “We must keep up appearances, at all costs. Okay, I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“We’re meeting in the theater, where they show
The Bermuda Journey
. It’s a thirty-minute movie about Bermuda’s history and culture. Sometimes I help out as a guide at the Visitor’s Center. It’s low season, so that’s why the space was available. It’s up on the top floor.”

They passed a photo gallery featuring portraits of previous mayors. No doubt most of them were Patience’s ancestors.

Cecilia was waiting outside the theater.

“Cousin Nathaniel,” she simpered, extending her hand to be kissed.

“Cecilia,” he answered, obliging her.

****

“What is he doing in here?” Cecilia whispered as she took Patience aside. “I thought you were going to leave him outside.”

“He’s my self-appointed bodyguard, watchdog, jailer, take your choice. He’s imposed himself on me, and it seems I’m stuck with him.”

“He’s more like your lapdog,” Cecilia answered. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s positively steamy.”

“I haven’t really noticed. I’m too busy watching him micromanage my life.”

“It looks like he’s been doing more than looking at you. You’d better go fix your lipstick.”

“Darn,” Patience said, taking out her compact to check. “Is everyone already in there?” she asked.

“Yes. You’re on. Are you going to be okay? I mean, everyone really appreciates you being here so soon after, well, you know.”

“I’m fine,” Patience assured in a voice that sounded more confident than she felt. “Do me a favor and deposit my
cousin
at the back of the room for me, and then you can help me with all this stuff.”

“My pleasure.” Cecelia marched back to Nathaniel. “Come along, Nathaniel. I’m going to take good care of you.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

Patience swept into the room with Cecelia and Nathaniel at her heels. Everyone made the proper condolence noises. And their sentiments were genuine. Diana Whitestone had been head of this committee, well-loved and respected by everyone in the room. Patience’s grief was still fresh, and reminders of her grandmother just made it harder to bear. But this was an important meeting and she was running it, so she held up her head, took a deep breath, and plunged ahead.

****

Patience took control of the crowd from the moment she approached the podium. She was spellbinding. Or maybe it was just that Nathaniel was under her spell. Everyone listened attentively as she spoke. There was nothing tentative or delicate about this Patience as she moved competently through the agenda, introducing ad agency representatives, making presentations herself, leading the discussion, heading off disputes. She was brilliant. It was hard to believe she was the same person who had dissolved so easily in his arms.

He was mesmerized by her voice and her face. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He knew she was communicating something important, but he couldn’t focus on what she said, only on how she said it. He tried to pay closer attention.

“So that’s why I like the local agency’s campaign so much.”

She put the presentation board on the easel.

“Here’s one of my favorites.”

Tea Time or Tee Time?

Bermuda. We Cover All the Angles.

“And this one,” Patience continued.

Whether Dark and Stormy or

Sunny and Bright

Rediscover Yourself in Bermuda.

Patience held up the photos of a couple lounging by the pool, sipping their Dark ‘n Stormy™ cocktails, and another couple basking in the sun on a sailboat, to illustrate her choice.

“Most visitors already associate us with shipwrecks, hurricanes, and the Bermuda Triangle, so we may as well confront those issues, meet those challenges head on and turn them to our advantage,” she said.

“This campaign, by our very own Bermuda agency, demonstrates their knowledge of the island, and that counts for a lot. And I love their Bermuda Connections series, which highlights all the well-known painters, writers, and others who have made Bermuda their home or visited our island over the course of our history. I’m not in favor of giving away our business to a New York or London agency when we have such wonderful talent right here at home,” she concluded.

Everyone in the room stood and clapped. At that moment, Patience could have asked for anything and it would have been hers.

When the group broke for lunch, Nathaniel approached her.

“I don’t know what to say,” he began. “You were magnificent. Not exactly a damsel in distress. You ran the whole show. Impressive.”

Patience blushed. “Thank you.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look a little tired.”

“Does it show?”

“Not much, but I can tell. After lunch, let me take you home.”

“That sounds wonderful, really,” Patience said. “Cecilia said she would take care of bringing me all my material, so we wouldn’t have to stay and collect it.”

****

The truth was Patience did feel bone-tired, and her feet hurt. She was proud of her performance, and she knew her grandmother would have been, too. But she might have been a little too ambitious to think she could bounce back so quickly. What she wanted to do now was get back home, get out of these clothes, and snuggle on the couch with Nathaniel. He placed his hand at the small of her back in a supportive gesture, then stepped back as her colleagues came up to congratulate her.

When they left the building, Patience had a final request before they left for home.

“If we could, I’d like to stop at St. Peter’s Church for a moment.”

“Of course,” he said. He took her hand and this time she didn’t object or pull it away. They walked the several blocks to the church where she had buried her grandmother. This time he stood beside her as she bent down first to her grandmother’s grave, then her grandfather’s, arranging the flowers to make sure they were fresh and appealing.

“My grandmother loved flowers,” she said, choking on the words.

“I know. Her garden is beautiful.”

She couldn’t say anything more as the silent tears flowed. Ready to collapse, she let him gather her in his arms and hold her while she grieved, grateful he was there with her.

“Now I have no one,” she whispered.

“That’s not true, Patience. You have me.” He held her tighter. And she leaned her head against his chest.

Then she broke away and he followed her, maintaining a discreet distance. As she knelt at a weathered marker, beneath the shade of a magnificent cedar tree, she clasped a tarnished silver pendant to her heart. He was close enough to hear her sigh with what he keenly felt was sorrow and longing. He attributed her reaction to the strain of the last few weeks of her mother’s illness and the stress of the funeral.

Though the sun shone brightly, when Patience bent to the ground, the light was blotted out momentarily by a turbulent cloud that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The air around them grew cold. Patience grabbed her arms and rubbed them. Nathaniel felt the chill down to his bones and a tangible connection to an otherworldly, sorrowful presence. Then, the sun skimmed easily from behind the cloud and light poured back into the hallowed space as if it had never been absent.

When Patience stood up, he moved closer to the gravesite and experienced an intense feeling—a centuries-old longing—a feeling he had been to this particular place before. He dismissed it as nothing more than déjà vu, since he’d never been to this cemetery before, other than for Diana’s funeral. Glancing at the marker, Nathaniel noted that the woman buried there had died when she was just about the age Patience was now. In fact, she had died only a year after the Anglican church was originally erected. No doubt she was one of Patience’s ancestors, one of the early settlers of Bermuda.

Year 1593-1620

Elizabeth Sutton Smith

Wife of Richard

Mother of Anne

I will wait forever.

At that moment, Nathaniel felt bound to Patience.

They stared at each other, electrified by their tangible connection.

Chapter 25

Nathaniel sauntered into Patience’s bedroom and wasn’t surprised to find her still asleep. He lifted the large heavy volume from the bed where it had fallen out of her hands.

It must be some serious history book, Nathaniel thought. He held it up to the sunlight beginning to stream into the room.
Historye of the Bermudaes or Summer Islands
. A small, dog-eared paperback fell out. He smiled when he glanced at the half-naked pirate and scantily clad, amply endowed maiden in a clinch on the worn cover. He leafed through the romance paperback and noticed it was bookmarked to a particularly steamy passage. Apparently Patience wasn’t as serious as she pretended to be.

“My, my,” he chuckled, his eyes narrowing as they paused over words that would make a sailor blush. He hoped she was getting some ideas they could later put into practice.

Patience tossed restlessly on the bed like a ship roaming rough seas.

“What are you dreaming about, darling Patience?” he whispered before he pulled the covers down from her chin. He tucked the paperback into his pocket. This novel could bear further investigation. But now it was time to awaken his sleeping beauty. He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Let me take you out to breakfast, this morning, Patience,” offered Nathaniel cheerfully as Patience surfaced from slumber. “I’ve been practicing on the scooter. I think I’ve got my hand signals down.”

“I think it might be safer to take my car,” she laughed. “Otherwise, we both might end up in hospital with a bad case of road rash or worse.”

Then the light left her eyes and she asked, “What day is it, Nathaniel? I’ve lost track of the time. I look back and the days are all jumbled together.”

He reached for her hand. That’s how he had felt since she came into his life. Was it truly only days, or weeks or hours? It felt like forever, yet not long enough.

“It’s Sunday,” he answered. “I’ve been hearing a lot about the brunch at the Fourways Inn. Could we try it?”

Patience squeezed her eyes shut.

“Do you have another headache?” he asked, touching his hand to her forehead and rubbing his thumb gently over her eyes.

“No, I just don’t think I can summon the energy to go out again. I still feel like I’m in a fog.”

“Of course. I understand.” Last evening, he had seen her rustling through the clothes in her grandmother’s closet, feeling them, smelling them, and he knew she was imagining Diana was still there. And he had caught her crying. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on her grief, so he’d passed by the room in silence.

Perhaps she was wondering why the flowers in the garden were still in bloom, why the ocean continued to beat against the shore, why the sky was so bright and blue, and why nothing had changed even though the light had gone out of her life? He had wondered that too, once, a long time ago, when his mother had walked out of his life. But his mother had left him of her own free will. She hadn’t been taken from him, like Diana Whitestone.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to make you one of my famous Morgan omelets.”

She laughed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s in it.”

“That depends entirely on what you have in the galley.”

“All manner of things, I imagine. Cecilia and Sallie make sure the kitchen stays well stocked. They know I won’t shop.”

Nathaniel took her hand in his again. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Her hand was limp and lifeless, like the limb of a wounded bird. She didn’t even have the strength to run a brush through her hair. He left her for a moment to walk into the bathroom and returned with an antique silver hairbrush. He went to work on her hair, and the steady movement of the brush through her scalp seemed to soothe her, while it aroused him. If he continued, they’d never eat. He placed the brush on the end table by the bed.

“Now, come with me to the kitchen,” he urged, and guided her off the bed and all the way to a chair in the kitchen. “You’ll keep me company. This omelet demands an audience.”