It took four visits to convince Joel to change his mind. For every reason he gave that he couldn’t go to the fair, Clemmie offered a solution showing that the outing was not impossible for him—as he claimed—but probable, even preferable. He needed to get out of the house and into the world.
Thea offered her support, and Herbert announced they would make it a family outing. Hannah talked to her mother, both of them overburdened with work for the upcoming bazaar, and Hannah’s mother gladly relinquished the chauffeur for a day, eager to help when Clemmie broke down and told her of Joel’s presence in town. Sworn to secrecy, Hannah’s mother also expressed concern that Clemmie was keeping her identity from Joel, but Clemmie assured her hostess she would tell him soon. And at last, with no further arguments, Joel curtly agreed to attend the fair, though his mood grew dour the rest of that afternoon.
She hadn’t realized it would be so difficult. Not just to conceal her identity but to continue in her plan to help him. Some days everything proceeded smoothly, and she felt the heavens smiled upon her—that God, indeed, had orchestrated her arrival to Connecticut, and she was following through with His plans. She’d even begun to hope for her girlhood dream to come true, realizing she’d never gotten over wanting to be more than Joel’s friend, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself and everyone else she was long over her infatuation. Only this didn’t feel like the old silly schoolgirl fascination.
His unexpected kiss had brought her buried feelings back into glaring relief; she had to stop lying to herself and especially to him. Still, every time she considered how to tell him she was Clemmie, her mind played out the scenario of what would ensue. No matter how many ways she imagined it, the ending always remained the same—they both wound up hurt and losers. She had mired herself in this web of deceit too deeply and didn’t know how to gracefully extract herself without breaking the fragile cords of trust that slowly had begun bonding them—and causing her pain.
Those were the days she wondered if she could or should continue the charade, feeling sadly inadequate to help Joel, who bore a secret burden he wouldn’t share, no matter how she tried to get him to open up to her. But she wasn’t a coward, and that’s what she would be if she never returned, giving no confession or explanation except for whatever Thea might offer Joel should Clemmie suddenly quit working for him.
And if she did conclude all association with him, wouldn’t he feel rejected and betrayed despite his demands that she go, which had been coming less frequently?
When asked, she continued to read her novel to him. One afternoon after they’d both eaten, he was in one of his sullen moods and ordered her to resume their reading. She did—from the book she had open. She’d brought along a Bible, intrigued to find symbolism that was in the allegory of the novel and the verses relating to it. When she started reading where she’d left off, he’d shown surprise not to hear her speak of Pilgrim’s progress to the Celestial City. He hadn’t ordered her to stop, but his expression had grown hard and shuttered, making his feelings clear with regard to her choice of reading material.
Each evening she shared her frustrations of the day and concerns for Joel’s spiritual health with Hannah. And when she retired, she offered supplications to the Lord, asking Him to intervene and bring the lost lamb that Joel had become, however black, back to God’s fold. She hurt for him but refused to show pity, knowing it would only make things worse. Instead her pillow bore the brunt of her heartache as, alone in her room, she shed any tears she’d held at bay while in his company.
But this day held no place for tears. The morning shone sunny and bright, full of promise. And Joel, much to her surprise, seemed in a pleasant mood, though he showed some stubbornness in his refusal to use his cane, even just for the walk to the waiting car. She clung to his arm, both to aid him and for the closeness such an action afforded.
Inside the Rolls, despite its roomy nature, the seats were crowded. Any closer and she would have been sitting on his lap. The memory of that moment and what followed made her face go hot, something that Herbert, who sat directly across from her, didn’t fail to miss.
“What did you say to Marielle?” he teased Joel from the seat opposite, where Thea and Loretta also sat. “You should see her face—as red as a peony. Almost matches her hair.”
“Thanks a bundle for that trite and unnecessary information.” Clemmie modulated her voice gently while staring daggers at her old childhood torturer. “But I’ll have you know my hair is not that red. It’s almost auburn.”
“Dream on, little girl.”
Thea sharply elbowed him in the ribs, though she couldn’t know the extent of damage her husband may have done. Clemmie’s heart skipped a beat at the words he often used to say to her when they’d lived at the Refuge. She hoped Joel hadn’t caught on and gave him a swift glance.
His perfect features, no longer half hidden by facial hair, were a mask, his blue eyes indifferent. She couldn’t read his emotions no matter how hard she tried. Herbert realized his error by the deer-struck look on his face and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“Well, old man, at least your hair no longer resembles a caveman who hadn’t yet invented a comb,” he said too robustly. Clemmie rolled her eyes heavenward at his lame tactic to save the moment, and Thea elbowed him again. “What? What did I say? She did a good job is all I meant.”
“Enough talk about hair,” Thea inserted. “Tell me about this bazaar your friend’s mother is holding. I ran across some things yesterday if it’s not too late to make a donation.”
“I would think the ladies on the committee would be thrilled.” Clemmie mouthed a thank-you. “I’ll ask about it tonight.”
“Mommy,” Loretta interrupted, “will there be animals at the fair?”
“I think so, sweetheart. If I remember, fairs have them.”
“Have you been to the fair?”
Thea laughed. “It’s been many years.”
“What about you, Uncle Joel?” Bethany asked.
All eyes turned his way, and Clemmie uneasily thought again how silent he’d become since the drive began. Of all things, this morning he had shocked her speechless when he’d asked her last name! She had literally been saved by the cat when it chose that moment to run between them, and Loretta had given chase.
“When I was a boy, I went to a carnival.” His reply came quietly.
“Is a carnival like a fair?”
His grin to Bethany was halfhearted. “Something like it, I guess. I’ve never been to a county fair.”
“What did you do at the carnival?”
“Look, Bethany, see those tents ahead,” Herbert pointed out. “We’re almost there.”
“Yippee!” Loretta bounced on the seat, clapping her hands and earning her mother’s admonition to sit still like her big sister.
Clemmie knew about that carnival and understood Herbert’s eagerness to change the subject. As an adventurous boy of twelve, Joel had run away from his chaperones and into the path of a dangerous criminal, getting into some of the worst trouble he’d ever been in and also deceiving her parents. Thinking of her own deceit, she squirmed almost as much as Loretta.
Joel’s hand suddenly clamped down on her knee, startling her into sucking in a huge lungful of air—one she found difficult to release.
The feel of her leg tensing beneath his hand made Joel realize what he’d done. He had initiated his reflexive action to keep her still, but at her shock he quickly withdrew his hand.
“Stop fidgeting,” he explained, “or you’re going to bruise me black and blue.” The admonition was extreme. Though they sat with their sides touching, she could hardly bruise him from wriggling around. But he felt every movement she made, even sensed those he didn’t physically experience, and to have her so close was doing strange things to his mental faculties, bringing back thoughts of her sitting on his lap and their kiss.
And she had kissed him back that night, though it took days for him to acknowledge it. Did she kiss him out of pity? Curiosity? If for neither of those reasons, what was her motive?
What was his?
His motivation to understand her, to know her, clashed with his reluctance to have anything to do with her, all of his feelings becoming increasingly blurred as the weeks elapsed. Lately she reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t place her, and he wondered if he’d met her at a party or an acquaintance’s house.
Such a likelihood seemed improbable, because he didn’t remember meeting anyone in the month before he went blind who fit Marielle’s description. Besides, if they had met before, wouldn’t she have mentioned it?
He thought about asking her but was cut off by Loretta’s excited squeal, just as he’d been interrupted by the cat’s yowl earlier when he’d tried to get Marielle’s full name.
“We’re here! We’re here!”
At the cry that their destination had been reached, Joel’s fears resurfaced. Herbert opened the door on his side while the chauffeur helped the women out the other side. Herbert’s hand touched his sleeve, but Joel hung back.
“Come on, old man. Don’t dillydally. Need help getting out?”
Joel recognized the teasing the two of them had shared since boyhood, but right now he felt far from joking. “I’m only one year older than you—and don’t patronize me!” He whipped his arm away from Herbert’s touch. “I should never have agreed to this! It was a mistake.”
“Mama.” He heard Loretta whisper. “What’s wrong with Uncle Joel?” Suddenly the scent of lilacs strongly assaulted his senses as the woman who’d been both tormentor and savior approached his side. Her fingertips were gentle upon his shoulder.
“You promised to be my escort,” she reminded. “Please don’t back out now.”
Marielle’s soft voice calmed him where nothing else could. He offered a curt nod—shocked to feel her arm slip through his once he was standing—but didn’t protest.
At first the cane seemed awkward in his hand; he felt vulnerable walking over uneven ground he didn’t know and couldn’t see. But despite his peevish edginess, she didn’t abandon his side or chastise him for his disagreeable behavior.
“Tell me,” he said, hearing people hush or talk in undertones as they walked past.
“Are they all staring?”
“I assume you mean the ladies?”
Marielle’s answer and the tightness in her voice took him aback. “What?”
“You heard me. The ladies.” She made as if to move her arm away, but he tightened his grasp, not willing to let her escape without explanation.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I …” Her breath hitched as if she were now uneasy. “I understand you were quite a ladies’ man.”
“And that was your first thought when I asked if anyone was staring?”
“Yes.” Her admission came reluctantly.
With a disbelieving laugh he scoffed at her. “Trust me. I’m no longer the object of any woman’s admiration. I’m surprised you’d even think it.”
“Are you really so stupid?”
The anger in her voice hid the barest trace of tears, and the way her fingers tensed around his sleeve perplexed him.
“Are you all right?”
“Swell.” Her voice came steadier. “But since you ask, why do you care if anyone stares? Let’s just try and enjoy the day.”
He exhaled a frustrated breath. She was right, he supposed. He couldn’t see anyone’s reactions, and he’d never cared about what people thought before. So why had it become so all-fired important now?
“All right. On one condition.”
“You’re making a condition to enjoying the day?”
He couldn’t help but grin at her amusement.
“You don’t baby me or treat me like an invalid, and I won’t reconsider hunting down that chauffeur of your friend’s to get me out of here.”
“All right. It’s a deal.” She slipped her arm from his, but he grabbed her hand and looped it back where it had been. He sensed her surprise in the sudden trembling of her hand, which he kept under his.
“That I’ll allow.”
“Oh really?” she asked with a soft laugh.
He smiled.