Hearts Unfold (53 page)

A tiny spark of amazement lit
her brimming eyes.
 
“Upstairs.
 
But I can get them.”

“No, please.
 
Let me do this for you.
 
You've done so much tonight.”
 
Gently settling her against the cushions, he
tucked the quilt around her again.
 
“Stay
here.
 
I'll be right back.”

“The room on the right.
 
They're hanging on the closet door,” she
called after him.

As Stani climbed the stairs,
he admitted to himself that he was entering uncharted waters.
 
He had never in his life taken care of
another human being.
 
But he was
determined to do his best now.
 
At the
top of the stairs a door stood slightly ajar.
 
Reaching in, he found the light switch.
 
Sparkling tile and pristine porcelain sprang to life.
 
Here were her brushes and hair clips, her
meager collection of cosmetics, arranged in meticulous order on a small
vanity.
 
A basket of bright towels sat on
the floor next to a beautiful old claw-foot tub.
 
Across the tub, a wire tray held a sea
sponge, soap and a jar of bath salts, telling the story of frequent soaks.
 
His mind began to race.

He turned up the temperature
dial on the little electric heater, pressed the plug in the drain and turned on
the tap.
 
Waiting just long enough to
check that the water was warming, he turned back to the landing, loosening his
tie and unbuttoning his collar as he went.

A dim light shone from the
door he knew must lead to her bedroom.
 
As he entered, he had the impression of jewel-toned fabrics and comfortable
tidiness everywhere in the room.
 
Here
was her desk, her reading chair by the window, and her bed, a big four-poster
with a beautiful velvet patchwork cover.
 
He could smell her in the room, the delicate scent of her soap and the
faintest hint of lavender.
 
Turning to
the closet, he found the tailored nightshirt and robe, both deep blue with tiny
rows of white trim at the collar, hanging on a hook behind the door.
 
Looking around, he spied the toes of her
slippers peeking out from under the bed.
 
He approached the dresser, trying to think of other items she might
want.
 
Cautiously he opened drawers,
until he located the simple undergarments, neatly folded and stacked.

Bearing his findings to the
bathroom, where steaming water was filling the tub, he laid out her clothes on
a small armchair under the window.
 
Taking up the jar of bath salts, he measured a generous scoop into the
flow of water.
 
Another glance around the
room to make sure he hadn't overlooked any other potential luxury, and he gave
a nod of approval to his efforts thus far.

Fairly bounding down the
stairs, he paused as Emily raised her head and turned with a questioning arch
of her brows.
 
Going to her, he took the
quilt and reached for her hands.
 
When
she was on her feet, he laid it gently over her shoulders and turned her toward
the staircase.
 
“Up you go.
 
You'll soon feel better, I promise.”
 
She walked obediently ahead of him, turning
up the stairs and mounting slowly.
 
When
they reached the landing, she hesitated.
 
“I think you'd best take it from here, love.”
 
Lifting her hair, he laid a kiss on the nape
of her neck.
 
“Please soak as long as you
like.”

Slowly, she turned to him, a
tremulous smile spreading over her face.
 
“Oh, Stani, how sweet.”

“Go on now, in with you.
 
Come down when you're done and we'll have
some tea.”
 
Reluctantly, he closed the
door, his desire to stay with her a sudden unanticipated ache.

He raced down to the kitchen,
quaking with fear at the thought of his own ineptitude.
 
He was British, he reminded himself; he
certainly knew how to brew a pot of tea.
 
Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he glanced around the kitchen, searching
for some sign of what to do first.
 
The
copper kettle sat on the range.
 
Nearby,
the tea caddy and the blue teapot, the sugar bowl and a little pitcher stood
lined on the counter as if ready to show him the way.
 
Encouraged, he filled the kettle and turned
on the burner.
 
He next went to the
refrigerator, not at all sure what he was looking for.
 
Inside, a wedge of cheddar sat on a plate beneath
a little glass dome.
 
A bowl held apples
and grapes.
 
He took both and closed the
door.
 
On the counter near the sink, he
spotted the tray he remembered from their breakfast feast.
 
Carefully, as he waited for the kettle to
boil, he arranged his findings.
 
In the
tin breadbox, he found a loaf of what appeared to be home-baked bread, one end
sliced away.
 
He rummaged in the drawers
for a knife and spoons.
 
She took milk in
her tea, he remembered, so he went back to the fridge, filling the pitcher from
the carton.
 
Fruit, bread and cheese, and
tea.
 
It would do for a first
course.
 
Another survey of the counter
top and he spied a promising looking tin.
 
Popping the lid, he was rewarded with the sight of little paper cups
filled with shortbread and jam prints.

Once the tea was steeping, he
cautiously tested the balance of his load, and headed for the front room.
 
As she had done, he set their meal on the
table in front of the window, stepping back to look over the tray for anything
out of place.
 
It looked appropriately
generous, he decided.
 
Overall, he was
pleased with the effect.

A gentle rapping startled him
out of his appraisal, and an instant later Jack's face appeared around the
opening front door.
 
“I thought you might
need this.”
 
He set Stani's suitcase in
the floor and came in, closing the door gently.
 
“How is she?”

“Hot bath.”
 
Stani jerked his head toward the stairs.

“Fell to pieces, didn't she?”

“How did you know?”
 
Stani moved closer, as they maintained a near
whispered exchange.

“She does that, piles so much
on and then when she overflows, it's pretty devastating.
 
It probably had more to do with you than with
that baby, you know.”
 
Jack grinned, as
he caught sight of the loaded tray.

“So she tried to tell me.
 
Poor girl, she was absolutely drained.
 
Will she be all right?”

“Oh, yes, by morning if not
sooner, she'll be back to normal, like nothing ever happened.
 
Her mother was the same, if not more so.
 
It's really part of her charm, you know.”

“Remind me of that once she's
herself again.
 
She gave me quite a
fright, I can tell you.”

Jack looked again at the
table, laying a hand on Stani's shoulder.
 
“Looks like you've got things under control.
 
Call me if you need anything, but I'm pretty
sure you won't.
 
Merry Christmas.”

As the door closed, Stani
grabbed his suitcase and carried it into the guest room.
 
Setting it on the bed, he snapped it open and
removed the two parcels packed on top of his clothes, the tiny blue box from
Tiffany's, tied with a gold ribbon, and the package he’d received from
Emily.
 
He took an extra minute to strip
off his damp shirt and pull on a heavy turtleneck sweater, shaking his still
drying hair into some semblance of order.
 
Returning to the front room, he placed the gifts under the Christmas
tree and paused to catch his breath.

Emily was coming down the
stairs, her slippers making little slapping sounds against the treads.
 
Going to meet her, he held up his hand,
searching her face for signs of improvement.
 
Her cheeks were rosy and she was smiling, if somewhat weakly.
 
Taking his hand, she followed him to the
table and sat down with a long sigh.

“Feeling a bit better
now?”
 
Stani poured her tea, watching as
she plucked a grape and raised it to her lips.

“Yes, thank you.
 
This looks so good.”
 
There was a faraway note in her voice, but he
could see she was responding to the sight of food.
 
She took bread, pulling off bits and eating
with increasing relish.
 
Stani sliced
cheese, pushing it toward her.
 
Sitting
across the table from her, he thought she had never seemed more adorable, her
damp hair framing her face, her skin glowing.
 
“You did all this yourself?
 
And you said you couldn't make toast.”
 
Just a hint of a grin appeared over the rim
of her cup.

“I can't make toast.
 
I can apparently assemble things on a tray,
as long as everything's already at hand.
 
Have a biscuit?”
 
She was coming
back to life.
 
He felt as though a huge
weight had been lifted.
 
“Jack stopped
by.
 
He brought my bag.
 
He was worried about you.”

“Jack knows me too well.”
 
Picking up an apple, she took a healthy
bite.
 
“He knows I'll bounce back,
too.
 
Did he tell you that?”

“He says it's part of your
charm.
 
He's an amazing man, you know.”

“How did you end up in church
tonight?
 
Was that some conspiracy
between the two of you?”
 
She held out her
cup for more tea.

“Yes.
 
I telephoned him several weeks ago and we
worked out a plan.
 
He was to meet me out
on the highway, but my driver got caught up in traffic around DC this afternoon
and we were very nearly late.
 
You didn't
see us come in?”

“No.
 
I think I went into shock, when all of a
sudden you appeared out of nowhere.”
 
She
was more and more herself.
 
“Did you
really say you can stay for five days?”

“I did.
 
If you'll have me.”
 
Pushing back his chair, he went to stir the
fire.

“If you go on spoiling me like
this, I'll have you anytime.
 
Hot baths,
tea and shortbread.
 
I may start to fancy
myself the lady of the manor.”
 
Joining
him by the hearth, she stood behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and
resting her cheek against his shoulder.
 
“Thank you.
 
For everything.
 
For being here and taking care of me.
 
For coming to spend Christmas with me.
 
You know we just had an anniversary?
 
Three years ago, I could never have imagined
a night like this, you like this.
 
It's a
miracle, just as it was then, but it's oh so much nicer this way.”

Stani turned in her arms,
holding her close.
 
“And this night, I'm
sure to remember.”

They sat by the fire for a
long time in contented silence.
 
He could
believe in miracles after this night.
 
His experience in church, witnessing the birth of a baby, and the
discovery of just how intensely he loved her, wanted to protect and care for
her, were all miraculous.
 
Every hour
with her seemed to change him, lead him forward to a new sense of himself.
 
He tried to recall the pastor's words at the
close of the service tonight.
 
Words like
strengthen and support, honor and serve; words that gave direction, pointing to
a better life.
 
Peace and love, and
courage.
 
He had begun to believe he
might be capable of much more than he'd ever attempted.
 
With inspiration in the form of this girl now
nestled so warmly at his side, he might learn to be the kind of man she
deserved.

Three years earlier, it seemed
to him now, he had in fact died, only to be born into this new life.
 
If almost losing his life had earned him this
amazing woman's love, then he could accept the idea that there was a plan, a
divine vision for them.
 
There was so
much more to learn, more to discover on this journey; but he knew that tonight
he had at last opened his heart and, as she had promised, God had been there,
had spoken to him, and he had recognized his voice.