hold this memory to the light and enjoy it anew.
If only . . . but no, she wouldn’t let her thoughts wander down that path.
“That was about the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” Cameron said, meaning it. She’d fried him a steak the size of a plate, and garnished it with potato salad and fresh corn on the cob, followed by peach cobbler and coffee.
“It wasn’t anything fancy,” she said, but her cheeks warmed with pleasure.
The trip to town had pushed back the chores, and consequently they’d eaten later than usual. It was dark now and cooler on the porch than it had been last night.
“Tell me about Clarence,” he said, watching the play of candlelight on her face. Now that he no longer had her photograph, he would have to remember the arch of her brows and the shape of her mouth.
“You were his friend, you knew him,” she said with a puzzled expression.
“Imagine that I didn’t. Tell me about Clarence from your perspective.”
“Well,” she tasted her coffee, then added more sugar. “He was a devoted son and loyal to his friends, but you already know that.” She thought a minute. “He played the piano. He liked to hunt.” A teasing smile curved her lips. “Clarence was a talker. Lord how that man could talk. If you asked him the time, he’d be telling you the history of timepieces twenty minutes later.”
“What would Clarence have done if he’d survived the war?” It was a question he’d asked himself again and again. What would Clarence Ward have done with his life if he’d had the chance?
“If the South had won, Clarence had plans to buy more acreage and experiment with different crops.” She tilted her head to one side, and her gaze looked into the past. “He stopped talking about the future when it became apparent the South would lose. To be honest, I’m not sure what he would have done. As I mentioned, Mr. Ward protected a large portion of his wealth . . . maybe Clarence would have entered business. Or maybe not. He always said he didn’t have much of a head for figures.”
“Was he a spiritual man?”
“The Wards had a pew at the Old Standard Church, and when Clarence was home he accompanied the family to services.” She paused. “How odd. I don’t really know if he attended services to please his mother or to please himself.”
“Would it be too personal to ask why you married Clarence instead of another suitor?” He didn’t doubt that she’d had many beaus.
She ducked her head, then gazed toward the road. “I was very young, Mr. Cameron. I married Clarence for the wrong reasons. I think I fell in love because he was nice looking, a wonderful dancer, and he came from a good family. He was easy to talk to and his manners were flawless.”
Cameron leaned back in his chair and studied her expression. “What am I hearing in your voice?”
“I’m surprised by how difficult these questions are,” she admitted finally. “It’s shocking me to realize I didn’t know Clarence well. I’m describing the surface, not the substance of the man.” She frowned and briefly touched her tongue to her upper lip. “I saw Clarence as a mentor and protector. He would teach me and take care of me,” she said slowly. “Maybe if we’d had the chance, we would have matured into a more balanced give-and-take. I don’t know.” She looked at him across the table. “How did you see Clarence?”
Here was another opportunity to say what he’d come to tell her. And once again, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.
“We’ll save that for another time if you don’t mind.” He took his watch from his waistcoat pocket and opened the lid. “It’s getting late.”
Standing, he gazed down at her, enjoying how the candlelight softened her mouth and raised a shine to her eyes and hair. Unlike her shapeless work dresses, her town dress molded her body, revealing a full bosom and narrow waist, and when he’d assisted her from the wagon he’d caught a glimpse of trim
If only . . . but no, she wouldn’t let her thoughts wander down that path.
“That was about the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” Cameron said, meaning it. She’d fried him a steak the size of a plate, and garnished it with potato salad and fresh corn on the cob, followed by peach cobbler and coffee.
“It wasn’t anything fancy,” she said, but her cheeks warmed with pleasure.
The trip to town had pushed back the chores, and consequently they’d eaten later than usual. It was dark now and cooler on the porch than it had been last night.
“Tell me about Clarence,” he said, watching the play of candlelight on her face. Now that he no longer had her photograph, he would have to remember the arch of her brows and the shape of her mouth.
“You were his friend, you knew him,” she said with a puzzled expression.
“Imagine that I didn’t. Tell me about Clarence from your perspective.”
“Well,” she tasted her coffee, then added more sugar. “He was a devoted son and loyal to his friends, but you already know that.” She thought a minute. “He played the piano. He liked to hunt.” A teasing smile curved her lips. “Clarence was a talker. Lord how that man could talk. If you asked him the time, he’d be telling you the history of timepieces twenty minutes later.”
“What would Clarence have done if he’d survived the war?” It was a question he’d asked himself again and again. What would Clarence Ward have done with his life if he’d had the chance?
“If the South had won, Clarence had plans to buy more acreage and experiment with different crops.” She tilted her head to one side, and her gaze looked into the past. “He stopped talking about the future when it became apparent the South would lose. To be honest, I’m not sure what he would have done. As I mentioned, Mr. Ward protected a large portion of his wealth . . . maybe Clarence would have entered business. Or maybe not. He always said he didn’t have much of a head for figures.”
“Was he a spiritual man?”
“The Wards had a pew at the Old Standard Church, and when Clarence was home he accompanied the family to services.” She paused. “How odd. I don’t really know if he attended services to please his mother or to please himself.”
“Would it be too personal to ask why you married Clarence instead of another suitor?” He didn’t doubt that she’d had many beaus.
She ducked her head, then gazed toward the road. “I was very young, Mr. Cameron. I married Clarence for the wrong reasons. I think I fell in love because he was nice looking, a wonderful dancer, and he came from a good family. He was easy to talk to and his manners were flawless.”
Cameron leaned back in his chair and studied her expression. “What am I hearing in your voice?”
“I’m surprised by how difficult these questions are,” she admitted finally. “It’s shocking me to realize I didn’t know Clarence well. I’m describing the surface, not the substance of the man.” She frowned and briefly touched her tongue to her upper lip. “I saw Clarence as a mentor and protector. He would teach me and take care of me,” she said slowly. “Maybe if we’d had the chance, we would have matured into a more balanced give-and-take. I don’t know.” She looked at him across the table. “How did you see Clarence?”
Here was another opportunity to say what he’d come to tell her. And once again, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.
“We’ll save that for another time if you don’t mind.” He took his watch from his waistcoat pocket and opened the lid. “It’s getting late.”
Standing, he gazed down at her, enjoying how the candlelight softened her mouth and raised a shine to her eyes and hair. Unlike her shapeless work dresses, her town dress molded her body, revealing a full bosom and narrow waist, and when he’d assisted her from the wagon he’d caught a glimpse of trim
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