Seven little words, but they had the power to boost Clemmie’s outlook on Operation Save Joel. For the first time in almost two weeks, she glimpsed an elusive ray of hope. Not only had he not ordered her out, he’d almost given his consent for her return by stating she would come and had expressed a desire for her to read to him again. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.
Yet while the situation had mellowed between her and Joel and they had achieved workable boundaries, if not a friendship, one irritating factor dampened this new turn of events. Thea broached it before Clemmie had a chance to leave the following evening.
“You still haven’t told him who you are, have you?” Thea shook her head, answering her own question. “Of course you haven’t. If you had, things wouldn’t be so quiet around here. Joel would have gotten in a lather by now.”
“Is that what you want?” Clemmie regarded her, unflinching. “For Joel to get upset? Because that’s what’ll happen. And then I’d never be able to talk him into it.”
“Into what? The operation?”
“Yes. No … maybe.” Clemmie spread her hands, in an attempt to explain. “It’s about so much more than an operation. It’s about getting on with living again. Joel has given up, and I want to know why. I think this goes deeper than just bitterness over his physical condition.”
“And you don’t think asking him as Clemmie would be the same?”
“Asking him as Clemmie will get me the bum’s rush, booted out the door.”
Thea took a seat at the table. “Then let me ask you this: What makes the future any different? What makes you think it wouldn’t be even worse?”
“Pardon?”
“He’ll know at some point. You can’t go on lying to him forever. And then he’ll feel betrayed.”
Clemmie flinched at the word lying, and her heart dropped at betrayed. She knew speaking falsely was wrong, but in extenuating circumstances, some deceit could be helpful, couldn’t it? Her own mother had assumed another identity after being rescued from the Titanic, in order to evade the man who’d almost killed her. If she’d given her real name for the survivors’ list instead of the name of one of many who had drowned that night, would she be alive today?
“It’s complicated.”
Thea threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s going to be a whole lot more complicated if you continue with this ruse. Joel may be a lot of things right now, but he’s not dumb. Have you thought of this: What if he finds out before you can tell him?”
A piercing scream came from nearby, followed by a wail of pain. Clemmie jumped in her chair, and Thea was up and down the hallway in a flash.
Soon Thea reappeared with her youngest, leading her by the hand. A knotted kerchief hung loosely around Loretta’s neck as if it had been a blindfold. Fresh blood trickled from a minor cut on her knee. Thea set her trembling daughter on a kitchen chair and went to wet a towel.
“What happened, sweetheart?” She knelt in front of her and pressed the compress to her knee. “You’ve been having so many accidents lately.”
The child sniffled, wincing as Thea cleaned the cut. “I—I wanted to see what it’d be like.”
“What what would be like?”
“To be Uncle Joel.”
Clemmie drew in a sharp breath and exchanged a look with Thea.
“I thought I could do better and not fall down. But I can’t remember where everything is. I fell on my blocks. They hurted and poked my knee.” The doorbell rang.
“You’ve got your hands full.” Feeling suddenly flustered, Clemmie offered, “I’ll get that.”
Hannah stood outside the front door like a godsend. “Mother and I finished with things at the bazaar early this evening and thought you might need a lift.” Clemmie noticed the chauffeur sitting outside in the Rolls.
“Yes, let me grab my things.”
Inside the kitchen she said a quick farewell to Thea.
“Remember what we talked about,” Thea said somberly, glancing up at Clemmie.
“How could I forget? Bye, Loretta.” She forced a smile. “I hope you feel better soon.”
Farewells made, Clemmie hurried to the car. All during the drive, while listening to Hannah’s bubbly conversation, her mind revolved around what Loretta had said as she tried to block out Thea’s more sobering words. Three conversations, two of them silent, made it difficult to concentrate, and she asked Hannah to repeat herself more than once.
At dinner that night, Clemmie tried to participate in the conversation with Hannah’s family and share in their excitement about the upcoming fair, but she could barely follow the discussion. Her mind was still back in Thea’s kitchen.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Hannah’s mother asked. “You seem not quite yourself this evening.”
Clemmie managed a reassuring smile. “I’m just tired.”
“I understand you’ve been hard at work helping Thea during this summer break. A sweet thing to do, but not very restful. Why not turn in early, and I can send you up some hot tea?”
“Thank you. That sounds lovely.” Clemmie’s gaze dropped to the table. She felt a little remorseful for swearing Hannah to secrecy regarding Joel. Hannah’s mother still had no idea he lived a few miles away.
Once Clemmie had returned to her bedroom, she closed the door, leaving the light off. Moonlight seeped through the thin curtains while she remained in shadow. Remembering little Loretta, she grabbed her scarf from a dresser drawer, tying it around her eyes.
Darkness swallowed her, entombing her within a strange, empty well of silence that affected all her senses. She put her hands out, carefully edged forward on the rug then stopped.
Trying to remember the room’s layout, she turned toward the window, where the scantest amount of moonlight could be seen through the scarf folds. Thea had told her Joel could differentiate between degrees of shadow, so he did see some variation of light, just not a lot. Slowly Clemmie edged that way.
The toe of her pump snagged on something—the fringe end of the rug?—and she lost her balance. Her palms slapped against hardwood, saving her face from taking the brunt of the fall. Her heart beating fast and erratic, she resisted the impulse to tear away the scarf so she could see. Instead she gathered her wits, letting her breathing calm down.
An anxious sort of vulnerability descended on her as she got to her stinging hands and throbbing knees, struggling to stand. Once upright she slipped out of her pumps and inched forward again, her hands reaching out in front of her. Her fingers met with the bedpost, and she curled them around the carved wood like an anchor, relieved to find something familiar, to gain an idea of where she stood.
The wood beneath her stockings was cool and smooth, and she resisted the impulse to slide her feet along the floor. Any confidence that returned swiftly disintegrated when something sharp pricked the sole of her foot.
“Ow!” she cried out, bending down and raising her foot to grab it. The motion unsteadied her again, and she landed with a thump on her rear.
The sound of the door swinging open preceded the flash of illumination beyond the scarf as the wall sconce flashed on.
“Clemmie?” Hannah asked in surprise. “Are you okay? I heard you yell out….” A dull clink followed as Hannah set what Clemmie guessed was her tea on the bedside table. Her footsteps drew close. “What on earth are you doing? Playing blindman’s bluff solo?”
Clemmie pulled the scarf away, her expression grave as she looked up at her friend. “We have to help him, Hannah.”
“Him?” Hannah knelt down. “You mean Joel?” Her gaze lowered. “What happened to your foot?”
Clemmie inspected her sole, pulling out a tiny splinter. She ran her palm along that area of the floor, finding it rough. Of all the places on the smooth planks, she’d found the one area that was eroding. Hannah noticed it, too.
“I’ll tell Uncle about that. This place is old. Sorry you got hurt.”
“I’m all right. It’s Joel I’m worried about.” Clemmie had battled with fear, uncertainty, and vulnerability for mere minutes; Joel dealt with this every second of his life. Knowing that, she could begin to understand him a little better. At the Refuge, he’d been the leader and all the boys had idealized him, looking up to him. To have all control ripped from him must have been devastating.
Hannah’s eyes were sympathetic. “When you first told me about finding him and wanting to help, I told you I was in favor of the idea and would do what I could. I meant that. I don’t know, maybe God really is behind this and I’m not the only one who wanted you to visit Connecticut. I think He wanted you here, too. For Joel’s sake.”
“Then you don’t think I’m wrong to conceal my identity in order to help him?”
“I didn’t say that. But Clemmie—and don’t get sore.” Hannah hesitated. “If you have to keep asking and always trying to get affirmation from others, maybe it’s you who doesn’t believe it’s the right thing to do. And maybe you don’t need to be told the answer by anyone else after all.”
Clemmie didn’t want to hear or acknowledge such sound advice. She wished she could phone her mother and seek her counsel, but she didn’t want to breach any slim and grudging trust Joel had given by telling others his location; that was his responsibility. Or maybe—God help her, and she prayed for His guidance each night—maybe the true reason she chose not to ring home was the worry over what her mother might say about Clemmie’s ruse. She hoped she wasn’t making a royal mess of things.
Joel settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t close them, as far as blocking out the world went, but it did help him relax. Marielle’s voice also relaxed him when she wasn’t scolding him. To be fair, she only snapped back when he initiated the arguments, which this past week had been sporadic, to his surprise and hers.
He hadn’t thought he could feel comfortable around anyone again, but something about Marielle reminded him of the only home he’d known. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t refused her staying the extra hours after her family expressed concern over her walking home near dark every evening and told her to wait for someone to come and collect her. She hadn’t wanted to get in the way of supper and other family doings once Herbert arrived home from work, so she’d stayed at Joel’s shed of a home, even sharing his meals. He had demanded solitude for mealtimes in the past, so to have a dinner guest was disconcerting at first, but he’d grown accustomed to her company. To pass the time, she read to herself or to him from her book, as she did now.
Joel’s mind, however, had strayed far from the wanderings of Pilgrim. Not for the first time he wondered about his storyteller.
“You’re not listening.” She heaved a sigh. “Have you had enough for today?”
“Tell me,” he mused aloud, “what do you look like?”
She gasped, and he could imagine her shock. He’d never posed any personal question to her, though she’d shown no hesitation to grill him.
“Does it matter?” She hedged in giving a straight answer, which puzzled him.
“Maybe not, but fair is fair. You can see me. Why shouldn’t I at least be allowed to draw a picture of you in my mind?”
“I guess I see your point.”
He grinned at her reluctance. “I never would have thought you were shy.”
“I’m not. I just don’t like talking about myself.”
“Humor me this once.”
“Oh very well.” The leather binding creaked as she closed the book. Her skirt rustled as she fidgeted in her chair. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with hair and eye color,” he suggested drolly.
“My hair is a sort of light brownish, sort of reddish. My eyes are a greenish sort of grayish.”
“Sounds colorful,” he drawled at her unenthusiastic admission. “Any freckles?”
“What?” Her question came sharp. “Why do you ask?”
“The few redheads I’ve known have them.” He wondered if she was as sensitive about her freckles as those girls were.
“Can we talk about something else, please?”
“You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” He might not be able to see her, but he could sense her apprehension.
“I’m not that interesting.”
“I disagree.” He deliberated. “I’d place you at about five foot five. Am I close?”
She gasped again, and he assumed his guess was correct.
“How could you possibly know? I mean, w–we’ve never … touched. Or—or anything.” Her voice came soft, nervous.
“When you stand in front of me, I not only hear your voice, I feel the level of it. It comes to just below my collarbone.”
“Oh.”
At her quiet reply he added, “I told you before, my other senses have kicked in and sharpened since the accident that got me this way. I sense a lot of things about you.”
“Speaking of sharpened, you could really use a haircut,” she squeaked out quickly.
“And a shave.”
“Changing the subject?”
“Stating a fact. Unless your plan was to imitate a Viking? Or maybe a bum? That’s quite a beard you’ve grown. It’s the only thing saving you from others mistaking you for a girl, with how long your hair has gotten.”
Instead of riling him, it made him laugh. “Why should I care how I look? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Maybe you should. It’s not healthy to stay cooped up in this shed or to limit your excursions to your sliver of a porch.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Nice try. But this conversation isn’t about me. I just realized that in the four weeks since you’ve invaded my privacy, I’ve learned very little about you.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, I like the great outdoors. Speaking of, did you know the county fair is starting up next weekend? The weekend before the bazaar my friend is working at.”
“If that was a ploy to get my mind off track, it didn’t work. Where are you from, Marielle? Where do you go after you leave here?”
“Is it so important?”
Five minutes ago he might not have cared. But with her evasive responses, Joel realized just how badly he wanted to know. “Yes.”
He waited, as rigid and determined as she was silent. She let out a surrendering breath.
“Okay, fine. I’ll make a deal with you. Let me trim your hair and give you a shave, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“You have got to be joking.”
“No, I’m quite serious.”
Surprised she would be so adamant about his grooming, he narrowed his eyes in sudden distrust. “And you’ve done such a thing before? Used a straight razor?”
“Worried?” Her words held an undercurrent of amusement. “Don’t be. You’re perfectly safe. You wouldn’t be the first man I’ve shaved. And I’ve cut hair before, too.”
“Are you married? Widowed? Divorced?”
“No answers to any more personal questions unless and until you agree to my terms.”
He let out a rasping breath of a laugh. “Fine.” He didn’t care one way or the other how he looked. Neither Thea nor Herbert ever offered to groom him, and he never asked. He bathed regularly so he wouldn’t “stink to high heaven,” as Darcy used to say, and that was about the sum total of his grooming habits.
Why would he so suddenly think of Darcy and Lyons’ Refuge?
“Swell!” He heard his guest hurry to the door and open it. “I’ll just get the things I need. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
Before he could change his mind or stop her, he heard her footsteps whisk outside and hit the porch.
Joel wryly wondered what he’d gotten himself into.