Wedding at Wildwood (5 page)

He turned then to stumble into her arms, his eyes raking her face with longing and regret, while his hands gripped her elbows. “I gotta keep moving, Issy.”

“Why?”

He lowered his head to hers. “Because if I stop, if I keep standing here with you in my arms, I’m gonna do something we’ll both regret.”

She understood what he meant, but she didn’t try to pull away. “Let’s talk about this, Dillon.”

He shook his head. “You see, there’s the rub. I don’t want to talk.”

“But you said you needed someone to talk to.”

“I’ll find someone else.”

“I’m here.”

His eyes, so misty gray, so clear, held hers. “This is a bad idea.”

Not understanding, but wanting to desperately, she protested. “No, Dillon. We can be friends. We can help each other through this wedding.”

“Can we?”

“Yes. I promise. I know it’s hard for you, being here again. I’ll help you.”

“Will you?”

Isabel looked up at him, at his face, so open now, so willing to trust her. She saw hope in the clouds banking in his eyes. “I’ll try.”

“And what if I try to kiss you again?”

“You wouldn’t, would you?”

He touched a finger to her lips. “I want to, right here, right now.”

“Dillon—”

“I want to, Issy.”

Isabel felt a sigh move through her. A strange humming sound lifted out over the wind, maybe it was her heart beating much too fast. Somehow, she knew, knew that they’d never be able to just talk. There was a sweet, special something here that she’d never felt before with any other man.

“Issy?”

She had her eyes closed. “Hmmm?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

She sighed right along with the pine trees. “Okay.”

“Okay, I just wanted to warn you.”

“Okay.”

Dillon leaned down to pull her close. With one hand pulling through the tangles of her long hair and the other one gentling on the small of her back, he lowered his head to hers. Knowing that he shouldn’t be doing it. Knowing that she deserved so much more than he had to offer her. Knowing that they’d both be moving on soon.

Knowing that it felt so right, so pure, so wonderful that he’d never be able to let her go. And while he kissed her, he thanked the God he’d so often fought against for giving him the strength to come home again, to find her here. Even though Dillon hadn’t relied on prayer in a long time, he prayed about his feelings for Isabel, and he asked God to release him from all the bad memories. But maybe The Good Lord didn’t want him to forget. Maybe he’d been asking for the wrong things.

It didn’t matter right now. Right now, he felt a burst of sheer joy, felt his heart settling down for the first time in a very long time, felt as if he had indeed come home again. Lifting his head, he stared down at her, unable to voice his feelings. Except to say her name. “Isabel.”

Isabel watched his face, saw the peaceful expression falling like soft sun rays across his weathered features. “It’s going to be all right, Dillon. I promise.” Then she lifted up to kiss him again.

For a few minutes, they were lost in each other, there on the edge of the cotton field. Until the roar of an approaching tractor brought them out of their embrace.

And brought Eli Murdock face-to-face with his brother and Isabel Landry.

Eli glared down on them, then cut the engine, leaving a quaking silence to shatter through the trees.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Dillon whispered, all traces of serenity gone from his face now. But he held her hand tightly in his as he turned to face his brother. “I’ll handle this.”

“No,” Isabel said, lifting her head to stare up at Eli. “We’ll handle your brother—together.”

She didn’t miss the pride shining through Dillon’s eyes, or the tightening of his fingers around her own.

Eli sat back in his seat, then hopped down from the cab, his harsh features red from heat and disapproval. “I see you two are up to your old tricks.”

“Hello, Eli,” Isabel said in a level voice, even though her whole body tensed at seeing him again. She’d avoided him as long as she could. Might as well show him right here and now that she wasn’t a scared little girl anymore.

“Isabel,” he said by way of greeting. “I mighta known you’d take up with my no-good brother again. Y’all are like two peas in a pod.”

Dillon glared at his brother, a steely look cresting in his eyes. “Well, these two peas don’t want to be bothered, Eli. What Isabel and I do together is none of your business.”

“It is when you’re standing on my land,” Eli reminded them, his eyes purposely centering on Isabel. “What would Mama think, if she saw you two kissing right here in the middle of the cotton patch.”

Dillon let out a long sigh. “First of all, this is my land, too. And I don’t think Mama would make a big deal out of this. Isabel and I are adults, after all.”

Eli’s look of disdain made Isabel feel sick inside. He’d never regard her as anything but poor farm trash. His next words only confirmed that notion.

“Yeah, I can see things have certainly taken a new turn with you two. Used to chase each other around, playing tag and baseball, innocent enough. I reckon you’ve both grown up, but that doesn’t mean you should become careless and irresponsible—with no thought for the consequences.”

“Shut up, Eli,” Dillon said, the echo of his frustration rising out over the trees. “I won’t listen to your insults and I won’t let you talk that way about my relationship with Isabel.”

Isabel lifted her chin, her gaze meeting Eli’s. “It’s okay, Dillon.” Then to Eli, “You’re right, of course. Dillon and I are adults now, and we’re also a whole lot older and wiser than we were when we used to run around this place teasing each other and playing games. Don’t worry, though, Eli. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to ruin Susan’s wedding. And I hope you won’t, either.”

Turning defensive, Eli said, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take it any way you want,” Isabel said, shrugging. “Now, gentlemen, I have to get back to work. Susan wants to see the first shots of her wedding dress. And, in case you’ve both forgotten, she’s having a pantry shower tomorrow night. I’ll be taking pictures of that happy occasion, too. So, I’d better get back and finish up today’s negatives.”

Dillon stood silent, his hand on Isabel’s arm. Then he said, “Don’t rush off.”

“Not on my account anyway,” Eli said with a mock smile. Then he added, “Oh, by the way, Isabel, I hear you’re making a nice living with that fancy camera of yours. Don’t go gouging me for too much money on these wedding pictures. I’d hate to think you’d take advantage of my good graces just ’cause you’ve gone and got a big head.”

Seething, Isabel smiled sweetly at him. “I’m doing this as a favor for Susan and my grandmother,” she explained. “And unlike some people, I don’t take advantage of others. You can rest assured I’ll quote you a fair price for my services, Eli.”

Eli nodded, his gaze sweeping her face. “I’ll just bet.”

A shiver of revulsion slipping down her back, Isabel turned to hurry toward her house, memories of Eli’s past innuendoes coming back with all the clarity of the chirping crickets singing to the approaching darkness.

While Dillon had always teased her relentlessly, his youthful flirtations had only fueled her own longings. Eli, on the other hand, had been much older and much more direct with his barbs. He’d always cornered her, making suggestive remarks about her station in life and about her lack of a social position, making her feel small and worthless even while he implied he could give her whatever she wanted—if she’d be willing to pay the price. Isabel had never taken him up on any of his offers. And apparently, he’d never forgiven her for it. Or for her closeness to Dillon.

Isabel tried to block the ugly past and Eli’s condescending cruelness out of her mind. But it wouldn’t work. Dillon’s sweet touch, followed so closely by Eli’s implied threats, only reinforced what she’d been telling herself all along.

She should have never returned to Wildwood.

Nothing good could come of this. Especially if she and Dillon didn’t halt things between them right now.

Reaching the back porch of the little farmhouse, Isabel turned to stare out into the golden dusk. And then she saw Dillon, moving like a desperado through the wildflowers. Heading toward home.

“Only we don’t have a home, do we, Dillon?” she whispered to the night wind. “You and me, we’re like that field of flowers, wild and uncultivated, scattered.”

And if Eli Murdock had his way, they’d both be mowed down and cleared out.

“M
ore rice and flour,” Cynthia Murdock said, laughing out into the crowd of about twenty women scattered around the opulent formal living room of Eli’s home. “Susan, sugar, you’ll have to cook rice every night for a year if this keeps up.”

Susan laughed, then passed the basket laden with staple provisions around the group, her eyes shining with pleasure. “But isn’t this basket so lovely. I can use it in the kitchen maybe, or out on the sun porch.” Then, her gaze flying to Cynthia, she hastily added, “That is, if you don’t mind me adding my own decorating touches here and there, Mrs. Murdock.”

Cynthia took the floral-etched wicker basket filled with not only rice and flour bags, but spices and seasonings, too, then turned to her future daughter-in-law. “Of course not, honey. As far as I’m concerned, when you move in here with my son, my work is done. I plan to fade to the background. I think I’ll travel a lot and you know, I might even invest in one of those fancy condominiums down at Panama City Beach. I do so love the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Wish I had an accommodating mother-in-law,” one of the shower attendees chirped. “I’d gladly buy mine a condo far away from here, if I could afford it.”

Isabel, standing near the high arched doorway to the kitchen, laughed at the offhand joke, then snapped the moment with her camera, her stance aloof and observant as always. She was comfortable being on the outside, looking in. Maybe because she’d been born into that position here at Wildwood, it just came naturally for her now. Perhaps that was why she’d taken up photography at an early age, with an inexpensive camera Grammy Martha had given her one Christmas. Now, she could watch the world from her vantage point and capture the parts of it she wanted to preserve.

Like tonight. Being here in Eli’s excessively furnished home only reminded her of being with Dillon in the sparse, ragged remains of Wildwood. Like Dillon, Isabel didn’t feel any tuggings toward the new house. No, her heart would always belong to the old mansion across the way.

And her heart was strongly leaning toward the man who’d taken up residence inside that old house. She’d much rather be there, trying to decipher Dillon, than here watching her friend tear open the silver-and-white patterned paper of yet another shower gift. Here amid the belles and matrons of the local society, Isabel felt out of sorts and at odds. She’d never been a part of the inner circle. No, she’d been more of a curiosity for Miss Cynthia’s rich friends—someone to patronize and tease. And because of that, she now felt as if she’d been on display all evening.

With comments ranging from, “My, my, it’s Isabel Landry, the world traveler. Whatcha doing back in the boonies, sugar?” to “Isabel’s gone and got herself citified. I do believe I’ve never seen shoes like those. And that hair—your poor mama, rest her soul, would take a pair of scissors to that tangle right away, darlin’,” she only wanted to finish her pictures and escape the sugary-sweet facade of southern blue-blood wedding shower mania.

“Want a cup of punch, Isabel?” Martha Landry, who’d been hired to help serve, asked from behind her granddaughter. “You look drained.”

“Thanks, Grammy.” Isabel took the rich red juice concoction laced with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. The creamy mixture felt cool and smooth on her throat. “I am tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“I know, honey,” Martha said above the din of feminine chatter. “I heard you roaming the house. You used to do that when you were little, remember?”

Isabel smiled, then dipped her head. “Yes, and I’d usually wind up sneaking into your room.”

Martha winked. “Grammy’s quilts are guaranteed to calm any nighttime fears away. You could still stop in for a visit—you’ll never be too old for some comfort.”

Tears misted Isabel’s eyes. “I might take you up on that offer, Grammy. I’m having a hard time being back here.”

Concerned, Martha said, “But your pictures…Isabel, they’re all so pretty. Susan is real pleased so far.”

“Then that’s worth the trip,” Isabel replied, meaning it. “I wouldn’t want her to be disappointed, in me or this wedding.”

“Don’t sound so cynical, dear,” Martha whispered. “Just look at the girl. Even if you can’t find it in your heart to soften toward Eli, at least be happy for Susan’s sake. She’s glowing.”

“Yes, she is,” Isabel said, deciding she wouldn’t share the rest of her doubts with her grandmother just yet. “And don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of bursting Susan’s bubble.”

“It’s more than a bubble, Isabel,” Martha replied, patting her granddaughter’s slender arm. “It’s a lifelong commitment between two human beings.”

“It’s downright scary,” Isabel admitted, her thoughts automatically slipping to Dillon. “What makes a good marriage, Grammy?”

Martha sighed, then took a sip of her own punch. “Well, that’s a loaded question. I guess it’s both simple and complicated—it takes love, faith, hope, commitment and compromise. A really good marriage always includes that very important element—the firm belief in God as a guiding force. You know, your parents had all of those things.”

“They did adore each other, and they did rely on God’s help.”

“But?”

Isabel shifted on her chunky sandals. “They just seemed so…resigned. They didn’t try to make a better life for themselves. They worked so hard, and for somebody else. I’ll never be able to understand that.”

Martha’s keen eyes scrutinized Isabel’s face. “Child, have you ever stopped to consider that your parents had everything they wanted right here?”

Isabel shook her head. “But they could have had so much more. Remember the time Daddy wanted to buy Mama that house in town? They were so excited, so happy. I know they wanted to get away from this place. But nothing ever came of it. It’s as if they just gave up on all their dreams.”

“Maybe that was more your dream than theirs, sugar,” Martha said gently. “You can’t misjudge Leonard and Miriam. They had the life they wanted—you see, they had each other.”

Seeing the pain and disappointment in her grandmother’s eyes, Isabel quickly set her empty punch cup down. “Oh, Grammy, I meant no disrespect. I loved them dearly—you know that. I just didn’t always understand them.”

Martha put a hand on Isabel’s shoulder. “My son was a kind, proud man. A hard worker, like his father. Maybe he was too softhearted, true. He let others dictate to him.” Her gaze shifted ever so slightly to Cynthia Murdock. “But he was content with life. He had a strong faith that everything would work out, with The Lord’s help.”

“You want me to find that kind of faith, don’t you?” Isabel said.

“Yes, I surely do,” Martha replied in a soft whisper. “And…I want you to find the kind of love your parents had, the kind of relationship I had with your dear grandfather. That, Isabel, is where you’ll find your treasures.”

Isabel nodded, then looked out the wide window, over toward the dark shape of Wildwood. “Somewhere out there, I guess I’ll find some sort of peace one day.”

“Might be closer than you think,” Martha said.

Isabel shot her grandmother a look, but Martha was already clapping and admiring the next gift Susan had opened.

Wondering what her grandmother had meant by that pointed observation, Isabel automatically busied herself with taking another picture of Susan. The gift wasn’t a kitchen item, however. It was a bath basket, complete with colorful pastel gels and soaps that smelled like a tropical paradise.

“I know it’s not officially kitchenware,” Beatrice Webster said to her surprised daughter. “But I did get you a food processor. I just couldn’t resist throwing this in, too, honey. I got it for your honeymoon—you can take some of the lotions and soaps.”

“Oh,” Susan said before placing the gift off to the side, her usually bright eyes going flat. “That’s so nice of you, Mama.” Then to everyone’s surprise, at just the moment Isabel snapped another shot of her, Susan blurted out, “There’s only one problem. We might not have a honeymoon. Actually, there might not even be a wedding!”

With that, the woman burst into tears and ran to the kitchen, leaving the entire room in a shocked, awkward silence.

“Oh, my,” Cynthia said, clearly embarrassed. After all, Murdocks didn’t show vulgar displays of emotion in public. Turning to Beatrice, she said, “Maybe I should go and talk to her.”

“It’s my fault,” Beatrice wailed, her face as red as the ribbon curled around her pudgy fingers. “I shouldn’t have sneaked that gift in. I’ll go and see what’s wrong.”

“Let me, Mrs. Webster,” Isabel said, stunning not only herself but everyone else in the room. “I mean, it might be better if Susan talks to someone who’s not so…involved in all of this.”

“Good point,” Martha agreed, urging Isabel into the kitchen. “Now, ladies, let’s finish these cheese straws. I made them myself and I’ll be highly offended if we have any left. And let me see that beautiful tablecloth Irene Stratton sent over—Battenburg lace, isn’t it?”

With the even flow of her grandmother’s calming voice echoing in her head, Isabel searched the long kitchen for her friend. She found Susan out on the patio, staring into the glistening waters of the kidney-shaped swimming pool.

“Are you all right?” Isabel asked, hesitation making her whisper.

Susan waved a hand, then wiped a couple of fingers under her tear-smudged eyes. “Just prewedding nerves, I guess. I sure made a fool of myself in there, though, didn’t I?”

Coming to stand by her friend, Isabel put a hand across Susan’s back. The woman was trembling. “Susan, tell me what’s going on?”

Near bursting, Susan turned to hug Isabel close, a new batch of sobs racking her body. “It’s just…Eli can be so stubborn at times. We had a terrible fight today—he was so moody and mean to me. Something about boll rot or boll weevils—I can’t remember which. And now I feel horrible, fighting over some silly bugs!”

Hiding her smile, Isabel hugged her friend tight. “Oh, Susi, I’ll bet he was just worried. I’m sure he didn’t mean to take it out on you. But boll weevils can be bad for a cotton crop. And so can boll rot—the crop won’t yield as much if the plants can’t mature properly.”

Susan let go to stand back and stare at Isabel. “You think I’m being spoiled and selfish, don’t you?”

“No, I think you’re a bride—maybe a bit emotional and overstressed, but that’s to be expected, I imagine.”

Susan let out a sigh, then plopped down on a wrought-iron bench. “I never knew such a happy event could cause so many hurt feelings. Eli means well, I know. But…he gets so mad when I suggest even the smallest of changes.”

Wanting to understand, Isabel sat down, too. “You mean with the wedding?”

“With everything,” Susan blurted out. “He doesn’t want me to change a thing about this house—not that it needs changing. It’s perfect. But that’s the problem. I want to add my own touches. You know, make it homey. It seems so lofty and grand, I’m afraid to walk through it for fear of knocking something over and breaking it.”

“I understand,” Isabel said, looking around at the immaculate yard. “It needs children running through it and a swing set over there. Little things that make a house a home.”

“Exactly,” Susan said, bobbing her head. “And Eli refuses to even discuss children. Plus, he’s watched over the plans for the wedding like a general watching over a battle plan. He wants everything to go off without a hitch. ‘What would people think if a Murdock had a tacky wedding?’ That’s exactly what he said to me when I showed him the teal material I’d picked for the bridesmaid dresses. Said it was too loud and bright.”

“I’m sure it was lovely.”

Susan hung her head. “No, I have bad taste. I know I do, but Miss Cynthia’s helping me there. We settled on a pale pink instead. Oh, Isabel, what if I can never measure up?”

Angry that Eli had inflicted the same kind of pain on Susan as he had her, Isabel jumped up to pace in front of the rippling pool. “That’s ridiculous. You more than measure up to Eli Murdock. That man had better tread lightly, or he’ll lose the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“I won’t leave him at the altar, Isabel,” Susan said, her eyes widening. “I truly love him with all my heart, and besides it would devastate him. Not to mention the embarrassment. I’d never be able to hold my head up in Wildwood again.”

“Hogwash,” Isabel said. “Is that all anybody around here worries about, appearances? If you’re having doubts about this wedding, Susan, you’d better halt it now. Before it’s too late.”

Appalled, Susan jumped up to stop Isabel. “No, I didn’t mean to imply that. I fully intend to marry Eli. I love him. I…I just get so confused and worried. And I know he loves me, and he can be incredibly sweet about things. But on days when he’s in one of his tempers…Well, I just start doubting if I can ever make him happy.”

Isabel didn’t want to tell her friend that she seriously doubted anyone could ever make Eli Murdock happy. The man just didn’t seem to have any compassion or understanding for his fellow human beings. But she’d already pressed Susan enough, and she knew her interference would only cloud matters.

“Of course you’ll make him happy,” she told Susan, patting her friend’s trembling hand. “You’ve just got to relax and enjoy being a blushing bride.”

Susan still looked dejected. “If he’d only quit being so stubborn—he could hire someone to help oversee things around here. He’s trying to run this place with so little help, and it’s making him very hard to live with. Not to mention, he never gets to rest. I worry about his health.”

“Farming is very demanding work,” Isabel said, remembering how hard her father had worked. Rain, drought, wind, fire, pests, a hundred things could go wrong at any given time when you farmed the land. Your livelihood depended on nature and good luck. “Does he have someone reliable who could take over some of the responsibilities?”

“He’s got good workers, but…” Susan stopped, her expression guarded and unsure. “Eli says he can’t trust anyone else to be in charge. And his mama runs him ragged, demanding his attention.”

“Miss Cynthia is a very capable woman herself,” Isabel said. “Maybe she could at least take over some of the paperwork.”