On the computer screen, Cara typed in the donor’s name then eyed the baseball-sized hunk of glass, carefully choosing her words.
“Round paperweight,” she mumbled while she typed. “Blue iris set in bubbled glass. Three inches in diameter.” Then she added the date to the electronic entry and pushed Enter.
She paused before opening a new donation form. It was Wednesday evening. Over two weeks since her conversation with Jason in the library. Two weeks of recording donations, preparing press kits, meeting with Mathilda at her home in Shawnee.
Missing Jason more than she thought possible.
She set the paperweight aside and pulled a small, framed painting toward her. She was doing just fine. Getting along just fine. Except for the occasional, unbidden memory of Jason’s kiss. Full of all the magic and fantasy of the festival day. She shook her head. There certainly hadn’t been a happy ending.
“How are you doing in here?” Mathilda called from the doorway of the donation-staging area, formerly known as the music room.
“Almost done.”
“Good. I have some tea brewing when you’re finished.”
“I’ll be right in.”
With the number of donations increasing, Cara had driven over every other day to catalog and price items. She would work for a few hours then finish the evening with a cup of tea. Cara enjoyed the time, highlighted with Mathilda’s chocolate-chip cookies and conversation. From Mathilda, she had learned that Jason had been out of town for a week with new interviews, but had returned to Kansas last week. He dropped in at Mathilda’s home whenever he had a chance.
With the last donation of the day noted, Cara washed her hands in the powder room and headed for the kitchen.
“I have a wonderful idea,” Mathilda said from her place at the white table.
“Oh?”
For a matron nearing seventy-two, Mathilda had boundless energy and innumerable wonderful ideas. Her ideas could be as disconcerting as they were exciting.
“There’s a little affair over at the country club on Saturday night to celebrate the Bradleys’ thirty years of wedded bliss. Many of the guests will be exactly the people we need. You should go.”
“To the country club?” Cara swallowed. She had occasionally wondered what it would be like to mingle at one of those gatherings reported in the society pages of the paper, but she couldn’t possibly...
“Yes. As my guest. To work the crowd, as they say.”
Cara slid into a chair and reached for the teapot. “D-do you think that’s necessary?”
“Of course, it is,” Mathilda countered with a wave of her hand. “People want to know to whom they’re sending their precious dollars.” Her gray eyes twinkled as she chose a cookie from the pyramid stacked on the china plate.
With the tongs Mathilda had set by the bowl, Cara added one lump of sugar to her tea and stirred while she considered the idea and strove to discount her apprehension.
“Are these parties formal?” Cara asked, honing in on the most important detail.
“Oh, yes. Suits for the gentlemen. Cocktail dresses for the ladies.”
“Oh.” Cara thought over her wardrobe. The blue sundress, no. The long-sleeved maroon polyester with a black velvet collar... maybe.
“I’m not sure I have anything to wear.” Or know what would be suitable, she added silently.
“I don’t see a problem. I need something new, too. Perhaps we could go shopping together.”
Mathilda’s face filled with pleasure, and Cara saw a hint of the younger, mischievous girl Mathilda must have been.
Relief swept over her. With the older woman’s help, she could find something appropriate. “I’d like that.”
They set a time for Friday when Cara had a half-day off.
“I’ve never been to one of these things,” Cara said as she picked up a cookie. “What do I do?”
“Nothing much. Just look pretty — which will be no problem for you. Be your charming self. Talk about the Fund and the auction. Mention your sister—”
“I don’t think I can,” Cara exclaimed, then stopped as Mathilda caught her in a gaze of sympathy and understanding.
“It sounds barbaric, doesn’t it? But people will be more likely to open their wallets if you allow them to feel some sympathy for you. And what’s our goal? To open those wallets in honor of your sister.”
A burning started behind Cara’s eyes. After a moment she faced Mathilda with a determined smile. “Yes, of course.”
“It’s settled, then.”
“Hello? Anybody home?” A deep voice sounded from the front of the house, followed by the bang of the door.
Cara stiffened. The cookie in her hand dropped to the table.
Jason.
Cara felt Mathilda’s eyes on her and quickly picked up the cookie and stuffed a chunk in her mouth.
Mathilda called, “In the kitchen, dear.”
Jason strode into the room, carrying a concrete object about a foot-and-a-half long in his arms. “I picked this up like you asked. Where do you want it?” He stopped abruptly when his gaze landed on Cara. “Oh. Hi. Didn’t know you were here.”
Cara’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t look any more handsome, the jeans and cable-knit sweater reminding her of the Ozarks. His hair tousled by the cool wind. His eyes, walnut brown, searching her face. Sharing her secrets. Their meeting at the library flashed before Cara’s mind — the hurt, the uncertainty, the disappointment on both sides.
“Cara’s writing the descriptions for all the items,” Mathilda said into the growing silence.
“Sounds good.” Jason’s eyes shifted briefly to his aunt then focused back on Cara.
Her cheeks flamed, and she bent her head to sip her tea. Why was the attraction still so strong? They had discussed their relationship. There was too much between them to think of any type of future. Yet, with him standing in front of her, she wanted to think of the future. Wanted him to wrap his arms around her. Kiss her. Tell her it would be all right.
Instead he stood beside the table, shifting the weight of the concrete object in his arms. Watching her.
“What do you have there?” Mathilda cheerfully — deftly — cut through the waves of emotion and jerked them both back to reality.
“A lawn ornament,” Jason stated and gingerly maneuvered the object, letting the table support part of its weight.
“Yes, just the thing for any respectable landscaping.” Mathilda’s voice held a touch of humor as she tilted the statue toward her. “But what is it?”
From her vantage point, Cara saw a smooth body with two — were they wings or fins? Wide bulging eyes. And some kind of beak near the top. No, pointed nose. Snout, maybe. She ventured what she thought was a reasonable guess. “A dolphin?”
“I believe it’s supposed to depict Cupid,” Jason answered with a straight face.
“Oh, my.” Mathilda tilted the statue again. “This is from Cyrus Franklin, is it not?” At Jason’s solemn nod, Mathilda shook her head. “Perhaps his dear departed wife chose it. Did he suggest where we should begin the bidding?”
“Nothing under five hundred dollars.”
Mathilda coughed.
Cara gave a laugh then cut it off, though she couldn’t help sharing a bemused smile with Jason.
“The Franklins were always... eccentric,” Mathilda said in an undertone as if to apologize. “Well, perhaps I can speak with Cyrus about the bid.” Tilting her head, Mathilda studied the ungainly form again. “I must say, it will be a unique addition to the auction selections. Put it on the porch behind the music room.”
“You got it. I’ll be back for cookies.”
Cara picked up another cookie and bit into a chocolate chunk.
“I’m so proud of him,” Mathilda said on a sigh.
“Jason?” she said over the cookie and swallowed.
“He’s handled the situation at Doncaster so well. You know, I sent him a little check last week.”
Mathilda’s conspiratorial voice reminded Cara of her and her sister talking in their bedroom late at night.
“He called immediately with a business-like thank you. But I could tell he was pleased.”
Affection for the older woman blossomed in her. Mathilda lived a comfortable, but not ostentatious, life on her husband’s insurance and investments. Keeping up the house and lawn took most of her cash. Her check to Jason was a gift of love.
Cara had taken a breath to speak then stopped. Mathilda’s face had taken on a glow. Another wonderful idea had apparently just occurred to her. Cara braced herself.
“I’ve just had a wonderful idea.”
“What’s that?” Jason asked as he reentered the room. He swung a chair around and straddled it to sit with his arms crossed on the back.
“I just persuaded Caralyn to attend the Bradleys’ party on Saturday night to promote the auction. How much better it would be if, say, the chairman of the Doncaster Foundation,” she motioned to Jason with one hand, “a prestigious national organization with a good reputation, escorted the director of the Ellen Masters Research Fund,” she laid her other hand on Cara’s arm, “to the party.” She nodded at Jason. “You could dispel any negative impression of Doncaster, while showing how you’re supporting those unfortunate enough to be caught in the backlash. You create good PR for Doncaster and support the Masters Fund all at once. Isn’t that a wonderful idea?”
The cookie in Cara’s mouth turned to cardboard. Cara swung her gaze to Jason. His eyes locked to hers in an answering expression of dismay.
“Mathilda, I don’t think—” Cara began.
“Aunt Mattie—” Jason said at the same time.
“Now don’t try to tell me you have anything planned for Saturday night, Jason.” Mathilda rode over both their protests. “I know for a fact you’ve been buried under those dry computer files and accounting printouts far too long. You need to get out. You deserve to get out.”
Cara tensed. The thought of spending an entire evening at Jason’s side, being near him, touching him, was unsettling. After all they had discussed at the library. Unnerving. Scary. “Mathilda, Jason has a lot on his mind. With the trouble at Doncaster, I’m sure he couldn’t possibly...” Catching Jason’s eye, she silently urged him to persuade his aunt.
“Cara’s right.” Jason jumped in, shaking his head. “I couldn’t get away. Not Saturday. Things are pretty tough. I need to stay on top of the situation.”
Cara inwardly applauded his support while ignoring the sting of his words.
“You do want to help Caralyn, don’t you?” Mathilda’s question was all innocence. She had cut right to the bottom line.
Jason straightened. She watched him waver between his aunt’s urging and the prospect of an uncomfortable evening spent in her company. He nodded slowly. “I do want to help. And it would be good for Doncaster.” He took a breath. “I suppose I can take off one evening.”
Mathilda beamed.
Jason faced Cara and asked, “May I escort you on Saturday night?”
****
Lord, I’ll need Your help tonight.
On Saturday, Jason paused on Cara’s porch before ringing the doorbell. Without a doubt, the party would be difficult. Already he felt like a coiled spring. How would he feel after spending an evening trying to keep his distance? Wanting to be near her?
At Aunt Mattie’s, he thought Cara might bolt. Maybe she had changed her mind about tonight.
Then he took a breath and rang the bell.
The door swung open. Time seemed to slow, and his vision focused. The deep purple dress Cara wore clung gently over every lovely curve, stopping just above her knees. The material shimmered as she moved, making him want to touch the smooth, silky length. Her gold necklace and earrings brought out the golden highlights in her hair. She had definitely not changed her mind. A slow smile built on his face.
“You look great,” he said softly.
His reward was a becoming blush and a shy tilt of her head. Then she gave him a quick perusal. He had chosen his charcoal-gray vested suit with more care than he usually took with his clothes. For jewelry, he had finally settled on his grandfather’s pocket watch and chain, antique cufflinks and a jeweled tiepin.
Her appreciative smile warmed him. “You look good, too. Come on in while I get my coat.”
He stepped into her living room and absorbed the settled, homey feeling. Inviting armchairs and sofa, covered in a flowered pattern of rose and green, were placed on the dark hardwood floor. Small linen squares decorated each occasional table, the delicate embroidery matching the pattern of the curtains at the framed windows. Several magazines were scattered on the sofa, a coffee mug and a wooden bowl of multicolored chocolate drops perched on one wide arm. The mantel above the brick fireplace held two photographs and an old brass clock. Jason moved instinctively toward the pictures.
One was of Cara’s parents, he surmised, taken for an anniversary, perhaps, judging by the more formal clothes the couple wore. Cara shared her father’s smile, but her eyes were her mother’s, clear blue with a direct gaze that missed nothing. The picture on the other side of the mantel showed Cara and her sister Ellen, college-aged, caught after some sort of water fight, both soaked to the skin, their bright smiles filled with uninhibited joy. Curious, he picked up the photograph and studied it more closely.
Ellen’s hair was darker, her face more angular, her eyes set further apart, but together the two women held the unmistakable images of their parents.
“That was taken the year before the accident.” Cara’s low voice came from behind him.
Glancing behind, Jason watched her hug a long black raincoat in her arms. “It’s a great picture,” he said. He placed it carefully back on the mantel.
Cara gazed at the picture a moment then nodded.
“I hope you understand why I agreed to come tonight,” he said quietly. “I’m not trying to make things more difficult.”
“No, of course not,” she said, shifting the coat in her arms and glancing down at it. “This will be good business for both of us. I appreciate that.”
Jason shrugged inside his jacket to loosen a knot in his shoulder and moved toward her. “Let me help you with your coat.”
In a few minutes, they headed out to Jason’s car. As they approached, Cara’s steps slowed. Jason felt a pang of regret. He wanted her to trust him when he drove, but clearly she had plenty of her own gremlins to face before taking on his. The night was important to her. She needed to be as comfortable as possible. He held out the car keys.
“Aunt Mattie has arranged a car and driver from her house. How about if you drive to Kansas City?” he asked.
She lifted her eyes to his in surprise.
“You don’t mind?” Her fingers shaking, she took the key ring.
Yes. “It will give me a chance to enjoy the scenery while we drive.” Jason opened the door for her then slid into the passenger seat and closed the door.
Before shifting into gear, she touched his arm, her eyes holding a wealth of gratitude. “Thanks.”
“People, one. Gremlins, zero.” With a little effort, he was able to give the words a light touch. Silently he wondered if she’d ever get over her fear. If he’d be able to accept her progress, however slow.
The evening improved from there. On the drive over, they talked about Doncaster and the University, KU’s last football victory, and the unsettled Kansas weather. For Jason, riding in the limousine his aunt had hired, eating dinners where the number and kinds of silverware hinted at the number and variety of food courses, and making small talk with prospective donors were second nature. Activities as much a part of fundraising as depositing the donation checks.
Now he appreciated the years of practice as he endeavored to guide a novice through the swirling social waters. He considered the crowd and picked out a couple he had met previously. He folded Cara’s stiff arm over his and led her across the floor.
“Relax. This is going to be fine,” he whispered.
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. Her arm remained tense.
“Vivian, Harold, how nice to see you tonight.” Jason greeted the fortyish couple.
“Jason Montague, this is a surprise.” Vivian fluttered and held out her hand.
“We saw the article in the paper,” Harold put in as he took Jason’s hand. “Terrible thing to happen. How are things going?”
Jason had depended on Harold’s preoccupation with bank balances to give him an easy opening.
“Much better, Harold. Thanks. I think we’ve got all the holes plugged.”
“Good, good.” Harold’s eyes drifted to Cara.
“Let me introduce a friend, Caralyn Masters. Caralyn, this is Vivian and Harold Dunston. They’ve been good Doncaster supporters over the years.”
Cara shook hands and responded but didn’t let go of Jason’s arm. He needed to give her a chance to relax.
“How’s your son? Ben, right?” Jason asked.
Harold beamed. Vivian launched into a description of Ben’s latest escapade, including a surprise landing in a cornfield with a small airplane. “He swears he’ll never eat corn again.”
After some laughter, a lull hovered.
“Are you from the area, Caralyn?” Vivian asked.
“I live in Lawrence.”
“Then you met Jason there.”
“Actually, I met Jason in the Ozarks. Hiking.” She tossed a glance at Jason with the first genuine smile he’d seen all night.
“Oh?” Vivian said as her eyebrows rose. “I sense a story, don’t you, Harold?”
“Caralyn was at a Doncaster interview weekend we had down at Silver Pines,” Jason said quickly, to avoid revealing his own less-than-stellar part in their meeting. “She won a grant that weekend. Have you heard about the auction she’s planning in November?”
“The one your aunt is sponsoring?”
Jason nodded to Vivian’s question.
“Tell us a little more.” Vivian said.
Jason watched as Cara explained the Fund, slowly unwinding as she talked. Ah, good, he thought. She’s on the right track.
After just a few minutes, Vivian had taken Cara’s elbow and was leading her away. “Let me introduce you to Crystal Martin. Her cousin got in the way of a baseball bat last summer. We all said it was his own fault, but the injury was terrible...”
Cara glanced back over her shoulder with a helpless smile.
Harold laughed. “I’d suggest you go after them, Jason. If I know Vivian, you won’t see your friend for the rest of the night.”
He joined Cara a few moments later, basking in the warm smile she gave him. Over the next two hours, they mingled. Talking, laughing, eyes meeting, hands touching. Jason had never enjoyed a society party so much. Or used up so much energy stopping himself from kissing her senseless.
The highlight of the evening came for Jason when he leaned over Cara’s chair as the band began a slow love song, asked her to dance, and watched her eyes light like bright candles.
“I’d love to,” she said.
They came together on the dance floor, moving hesitantly at first, then with more assurance. Jason pulled her to him. He felt her subtle resistance. He reminded himself sternly not to crowd her, to give her space. He loosened his arms. Now he danced close enough to feel the radiant warmth of her body, but far enough away to enjoy her expressions and her shining blue eyes. To his delight, she relaxed in his arms.
“So what do you think? Painless, right?” he said.
“I wouldn’t say painless exactly. But it’s not as bad as I imagined. Especially with you helping.”
“At your service, ma’am.” The shy, grateful look she gave him made him feel like a knight in shining armor.
“Did I tell you about Mrs. Burton?”
He shook his head, watching her amusement.
“From her patter, I eventually gathered that her son is a principle dancer with the Kansas City Ballet Company, but she didn’t want to admit it. She ended up offering me season tickets to the ballet for the auction,” she said with a light laugh. “And who was the guy with the handlebar mustache? The gruff one?”
“Stan Murfson.”
“That’s the one. I told him about the Fund. He just kept hugging me and telling me what a great job I was doing.”
“So did he promise something for the auction?”
“No.” she giggled. “I guess I’m not doing such a great job after all.”
He viewed her glowing face and spoke from his heart. “You’re doing a great job right now.”
Her smile faded. She lowered her head. “Don’t,” she whispered.
He kicked himself mentally. Distance. Remember, Jase ol’ boy? Even though right here was where she was supposed to be. In his arms. Beside him. Working with him for Doncaster and for the Masters Fund. Together.
But later, after seeing Aunt Mathilda into her house and congratulating each other on a good night’s work, Cara said, “I’ll drive home, okay?”
Together was just a word. To be together in every sense would demand more than either of them might be willing to give.
When she pulled into her driveway, Cara shut off the car and handed the keys to him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
“Would you like to come up for some coffee?” she said.
“No, thanks. Early day tomorrow.”
“You’re going in to the office on Sunday?”
“Church.”
“Oh, of course.”
His stomach clenched. To him, Sunday morning would always mean church. To her, perhaps a chance to sleep in. He led her to the porch in silence, thinking over the evening they had just shared, how good they could be together, despite the gremlins. But what of her separation from God?
“Would you go with me tomorrow?”
“To church?” Her eyes widened. Obviously, she had not been expecting the question.
He gave a mental wince. He hadn’t expected to ask it. “Yes. And breakfast after?” He waited, unconsciously holding his breath.
Her face was a shower of emotions as she thought through the question. He felt a stirring of hope.
“No. I’m sorry.” She shook her head slowly, her face reflecting her sadness. “I’m not ready yet. But thank you for asking.”
He nodded. He had rushed his fences.
She reached out and gave his hand a slight squeeze as if to acknowledge the attempt he was making to bridge their differences. And her own inadequacies in facing them.
“I had a good time tonight,” she said. Then she added sheepishly, “I hadn’t expected to.”
“We’re a pretty good team.” Jason avoided an admission of his own, even though his feelings grew stronger every time he saw her.
“Yes.” She unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Thanks for all your help tonight.”
“I was glad to do it.”
“I wish—”
“What?” Jason said, thinking he already knew her wish.
“Nothing.” Her shoulder hitched up. “That things were different.”
Unspoken across the doorway in the dim light were the other words. The unspoken request each made of the other. Take me as I am. Love me as I am.
Jason brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Good night, Cara,” he said.
****
It had been a long time since Jason had sat alone in a church sanctuary after Sunday services.
He had forgotten how quiet, how still the Lord’s house could be. No music. No readings. No voices. Just the insistent clamor of his own thoughts. His doubts.
He had long ago decided in his mind the characteristics of the woman he would ask to be his wife. He measured every woman he dated against his conjured image. Everyone had come up wanting. Cara seemed different. But the gremlins gave her trouble. She would never move to Washington.
And her faith was shaky, untried, unsettled.
After last night at the country club, his conviction on the last item had shifted ever so slightly. He was actually considering what life might be like with someone who did not share his strong commitment to the Lord. The unexpected shift had rocked him and driven him to stay after the service. To seek the guidance he needed.
He focused on the plain cross hanging over the altar.
She’s a good person, Lord. She’s lost her way. She thinks You can’t hear her anymore. Or that You’ve stopped listening.
What is Your will, Father? Am I to be only a witness to Your love, a Christian brother? I will be that gladly. Am I to become more?
There was the basis of his dilemma.
Yes, he admitted. He wanted miracles. Cara was not perfect. What about his image of his future wife? Should he discard it? And if he did, would his choice fit God’s plan? Give me something to go on here, Lord.
He bowed his head and prayed. An hour later, he had an answer.