Authors: Leonora De Vere
The moonlight of the countryside gave way to the lamp glow of residential streets. There was only the sound of their footsteps on the sidewalks as they passed the stately homes on Marlwood Avenue. Still reeling from her evening’s celebrations, Laurel caught the toe of her boot in a crack of the cement. The misstep sent her crashing forward, stopped only by the strong hand of her companion.
“Be careful, Miss Graham!”
Laurel could only laugh. She laughed so hard that she could not stop. In fact, her humor was contagious, and Christopher could not help but join her in it. Before long, their guffaws rang through the streets, even drawing the attention of some of the neighbors. At the corner, Doctor Monroe’s dog barked a warning as they took the shortcut to her apartment.
They paused in the alleyway, just below the stairs.
“I have had the most wonderful time,” Christopher confessed.
Laurel was pleased to hear it. “So does that mean you’ll come tomorrow as well?”
“Are you
inviting
me?”
She looked up into his eyes and said, “Yes, I believe I am.”
Her tender words, as well as the heady wine, had a profound effect on Christopher as they stood in that dark alley at the back of the Dry Goods Store. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers were at her cheeks, stroking the soft skin of her face.
Laurel did not protest. She suddenly longed to feel his hands on her body and his lips on her flesh in a way that she had never longed to be touched before. Then, before she knew what
she
was doing, Laurel pressed herself against him, feeling the rush of his breath in his chest.
Christopher took her face in his hands, pulling it up to his mouth as his lips descended upon hers. The kiss was hard and desperate, fueled by months of pent up longing for the taste of a woman. He pressed his back up against the damp brick wall, drawing her to him. Her hands ran up his chest, then his neck, entangling themselves in the waves of thick auburn hair at his temples.
She molded her lips against his mouth, longing to absorb him into her very soul. He was like no man she had ever known before, and Laurel found him intoxicating. Why she had not felt this way earlier, why she had not seen these things in him until that very moment, she did not know. It could have been the wine, but something told her that it probably wasn’t.
“Will you come upstairs?” she asked, pulling his hand in that direction.
Wordlessly, Christopher followed. As Laurel struggled to unlock the door, he nuzzled and nipped at the back of her neck, relishing in the way it flustered her. When she managed to let them in her apartment, they barely made it past the door.
He pressed her up against a small cupboard, his hands fumbling with the clasps at her garters, his fingers grazing the tender flesh of her thighs as he pulled her stockings down her slender legs.
“I should tell you...I’ve never…” Laurel stuttered. “I mean, I’m a…a…”
Christopher stopped immediately. He had not counted on this. In all reality, he despised dealing with innocent girls and the trouble they would no doubt cause him in the long run. He went against his better judgment, deciding to be blunt with her instead of dropping her altogether.
“Miss Graham, I think you should know something. I neither respect you or your virginity. I do not look at it as a precious gift for you to bestow upon me, and it’s only after you have come to that understanding that we can continue.”
Laurel had never been so insulted in her life. Here she was, with her legs practically wrapped around his waist! She had been begging him to take her – hardly meaning to
offend
the man by offering up her ‘precious’ virginity!
“Get out,” she said, pulling her skirts down.
Instead of being angered by her refusal, Christopher bowed and showed himself to the door. It was best that she send him away if she could not agree to his terms. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, or to leave her feeling misused.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The weight of a fitful, restless night pressed upon her chest as Laurel lay in her narrow metal bed. A thousand times, she had replayed the scene over and over again in her mind, reliving every painful moment until she could bear it no longer. God! She had brought him into her house. He had seen her shabby apartment, her sparse furnishings. Wherever he was at that moment, ‘His Lordship’ was probably laughing at her impoverished situation.
If he was not mocking her living arrangement, he was surely sneering at the way she behaved the night before. Laurel had thrown herself at him; shamed herself. She wanted to believe that it was the alcohol, but in her heart, she knew that the sexual tension between the two of them had been building for some time.
“How can I ever show my face around him again?” she asked the cat curled up at her feet.
He only yawned in reply, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed for the damp of the alleyway. Regardless, Laurel needed to start the day. She pushed back the covers, hurrying to bathe and dress. Hopefully, she could enjoy the second day of the Cotton Festival without seeing anyone
disagreeable
.
Christopher waited for her on the courthouse lawn. He sat beneath the shade of a large tree, watching a group of children play tug-of-war. It was nearly time for luncheon, and Miss Graham had still not appeared for the festivities. He was becoming concerned that the events of the previous night had weighed too heavily on her conscience. It would be up to him to set the tone of their future friendship.
He saw her walking across the grass with Deirdre and Mrs. Jones, looking lovely in her white lawn blouse and pink gingham skirt. Instead of rushing to her then, like he wanted to do, Christopher stayed where he was, letting their eyes meet casually. Laurel’s bright features faded when she saw him, but he smiled at her. It allowed her time to realize that
he
harbored no ill will towards her, and to judge her own feelings before he approached her.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “I thought you might like to have luncheon with me at the hotel.”
Laurel looked as if she was about to refuse him.
Christopher glanced quickly at her shocked companions. “And I would be honored if you ladies would join us.”
Deirdre and her mother flushed with excitement.
Lunch at the hotel with His Lordship!
It was very exciting for them, so Laurel could not decline the invitation – for their sake.
The foursome walked down the street to the hotel, taking a table by the rose trellis. The ladies all ordered fried chicken without any hesitation, and Christopher was compelled to do the same. It was the only southern staple that he had not tried, believing that it was undignified to eat with one’s fingers. When he picked up a piece and brought it to his mouth, he went against everything his mother ever taught him.
Laurel could not help but laugh at him and how ridiculous he looked. She enjoyed seeing him step out of his comfort zone, and had made it her personal quest to discomfit him as often – and as good-naturedly – as possible.
Mrs. Jones smiled across the table. “I’ll bet you’re bored with our simple foods.”
“Not at all. Actually I think I am quite spoiled. English food may be elaborate, but it isn’t always the most…” He searched for the right word to describe it. “…Agreeable.”
Laurel was proud of the way Christopher went out of his way to make Deirdre and her mother comfortable and include them in the conversation. However bad his behavior was to her the night before, he was truly a gentleman that afternoon.
Christopher and Laurel walked to the church down the street from the hotel, while Deirdre and Mrs. Jones went to find the rest of their family. Laurel was a little nervous about attending the ice cream social, but she did not want to let him know. Christopher incorrectly interpreted her strange behavior as still having something to do with him.
“Miss Graham, I think we should talk about last night.”
“Please, let’s not,” she begged. “I’d like to forget that it ever happened.”
He gave her a half-hearted smile. “So would I. It was a misstep between us.”
“That’s right! And we’ll never mention – or even
think
about it again.”
Christopher agreed verbally, but in his mind, he couldn’t help but disagree. He had thought about their ‘misstep’ for a long time afterward. Even in her presence, he kept seeing her as he saw her that night – beautiful, seductive, and dying to be held by him. He also recalled the way
he
had been desperate to hold her. It had been so long since he had felt that need, and in a way, it frightened him.
Laurel brought over two bowls of peach ice cream, fresh from the churn. One she handed to Christopher, and the other she kept for herself as she eased down upon the blanket he was seated on. Across the church lawn, she watched a handsome man around her age carry buckets of ice to the women hard at work making the ice cream.
Christopher saw the look in her eyes, and understood it all too well. “Would that be
your
young gentleman?”
“I don’t have a gentleman,” she replied, snapping out of her daze.
Spooning the creamy dessert around his bowl, he looked on as the boy was stopped by a group of pretty young ladies. They all vied for his attention. Whoever he was, he was very popular.
“Who is he?”
Laurel took a few bites of her ice cream, but tasted none of them. “The preacher’s son.”
“You are in love with a minister’s son?”
She stared at the young man for a very long time, and then looked over at Christopher. “I thought I was, but now that I look back, I think maybe I wasn’t after all.”
For some reason, he was glad.
“Not that it matters anyway,” Laurel continued. “Because his parents didn’t exactly think that I was a proper companion for him.”
“I’m sorry.”
She sighed and let her shoulders droop. “Not as sorry as I am. I loved this church, but now I can barely stand to show my face around here. It’s humiliating.”
“Don’t let your pride stop you from attending church,” Christopher said, finishing the last bit of his delicious peach ice cream. “Doesn’t that go against everything they teach?”
Laurel stood up, brushing little pieces of grass from her pink skirt. “Perhaps, but they weren’t exactly filled with Christian love and forgiveness themselves, either.”
“People are always willing to blame others, but never taking the time to find fault within themselves,” Christopher said. “All denominations must be that way, I think.”
She took a few steps, then turned back toward him. “Let me show you something.”
Christopher followed her to the edge of the church lawn, then through a narrow wrought iron gate. They were in the cemetery, and they weaved between the rows of simple headstones and elaborate monuments. At the far end, Laurel stopped in front of three plain gravemarkers.
William Henry Royster. Died 1893
Myrtle Vincent Royster. Died 1896
Their loving daughter June. Born 1866 – Died 1890
“My grandparents,” Laurel explained, pointing to the first two. “And my mother.”
He noted the pride in her voice when she spoke of her grandparents, but also the way she grew somber at the mention of her mother.
“They thought it best to leave off her last name,” she said, picking a yellow dandelion from beside their stones. “Which was still Royster.”
“And your name is Graham,” Christopher said. “After your father?”
“The man she
thought
was my father. Never could be sure in those days.”
She said it without shame or regret, although she did not look him in his eyes.
Christopher looked down at the graves with her, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. “Is that why you couldn’t marry the preacher’s son?”
“That is why I can’t do a lot of things. No matter how hard I try, I can never atone for the shame my mother brought our family. So, one day, I just quit trying.”
As they walked back through the iron gate, Christopher saw the young man. He suddenly wanted to hit him, to hurt him, and make him pay for the pain that he had caused her. Miss Graham was innocent, yet the town insisted on punishing her for crimes she did not commit, and of all people, a minister and his family should have been forgiving and accepting. Instead they added fuel to the flame.
“Miss Graham,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than usual.
Laurel stopped and turned to him, perplexed by the harshness in his words.
“He did not deserve you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was chilly at the mill that day. The leaves had begun to fall, and the last traces of summer were long gone.
What a difference a few weeks can make
. Laurel thought to herself as she stared out the window. Just the other day, she was having ice cream, and now she longed for a warm cup of coffee.
Or perhaps hot chocolate
. She smiled.
Christopher made his way down the aisle in the spinning room, observing his employees while they were hard at work. He was almost to her row when one of the doors burst open. The carding-room supervisor rushed in, his shirtfront covered in blood. There had been an accident. The faces of all the men who worked the carding machines raced across Laurel’s mind.
“Daniel Clay…” She was barely able to make out over the buzz of machinery. “…Hand caught.”
Christopher and the man walked calmly, but quickly, from the room.
Deirdre looked across the white spools of cotton fibers, her face pale. “
Danny?
Danny has been hurt?” She ran over to the window, standing on her tiptoes to see outside.
Laurel grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back to her machine. She was just in time to see the men carry him out to a wagon. Without hesitation, Christopher climbed in the back, and then they drove out of sight.
“Come back from there,” she said. “You know you can’t leave your place!”
Their supervisor watched them from the catwalk. They could each get fired for this.
“But it was Danny!” Deirdre cried. “Oh My God, Laurel! It was Danny!”
Doctor Monroe took one look at Danny Clay’s hand and sent the wagon on to Gastonia. The best that he could do was to amputate, but he had hope that the young man could receive better treatment at a hospital.