Read Online Promise of Yesterday by S. Dionne Moore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S. Dionne Moore
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hair, what did she know of him?
Sure, he stirred things in her that had lain dormant since Walter, but circumstances were different now. She had changed. Matured. And she would not give her heart away so easily. Weariness settled over her shoulders. It seemed she often chided herself with the same argument, when it would be so much easier to simply allow the feelings Chester stirred in her heart.
Marylu steeled herself and stared at a point over his shoulder. She said the letter A, then formed it with her tongue in a melodramatic way that allowed him to see how her tongue moved. He tried to imitate. The sound was garbled, but she made him try again, over and over. They worked through the first six letters.
He concentrated hard and worked even harder, doing his best to follow her directions. Seeing his torn tongue made her heart sad, and several times it came to her mind to ask him about the incident. About the rumor that he had murdered. But to watch the fervor with which he worked to regain his speech and to learn to read, she reasoned it had to be the idle talk of a bored woman. Mrs. Burns’s reputation as a gossip preceded her. And Chester had no way of defending himself against rumors, whether true or not. One day, when he could communicate better, she would ask him about it. At the quick rate with which he picked up on the alphabet and the few small words, she would not have to wait long.
The arguments, for and against Chester, ran through her head as they worked together over the next hour. And new things were added to the list of sensations and tenderness his presence stirred.
The flicker of the lantern light against his skin, smooth and dark like leather.
The way his eyes squinted when he concentrated.
And when he raised his eyes to hers after a particular triumph, the warm glow in the depths of his maple syrup gaze spilled over her like warm honey.
When they took a break from speech and went back to writing, he couldn’t seem to remember the right way to hold the pencil. She demonstrated a new way. When he couldn’t quite get his fingers into the right position, she took his hand in hers and curled his long fingers around the instrument, suspecting all along that his forgetfulness had little to do with his mind and everything to do with her touch. And she played along. On those occasions when their eyes did meet, she tried to cover what his gaze stirred by concentrating on the slate or ignoring him, but she couldn’t deny it to herself.
Evening after evening, for an entire week, they worked, and when she walked into McGreary’s dress shop that bright Friday morning and saw Mrs. Burns standing in front of the mirror for a fitting, Marylu made up her mind to draw out the woman more on the accusation against Chester.
Jenny stood with a mouthful of pins, as was usual for her during a fitting. It came to Marylu in that moment that she would have to do very little to coax Mrs. Burns to speak up about Chester. So she sidled up next to Jenny and prepared to get down on the floor to pin the hem.
Jenny stopped her and took the pins from her mouth. “I’m having trouble on that dress.” Jenny jerked her head to indicate the table behind her.
Marylu noticed the striped material of Sally Worth’s gown. The one she’d come in to the shop to have Jenny make so she could brag about her “date” with Aaron Walck. As Marylu ran her fingers over the material, she saw the ripped threads, evidence of Jenny’s frustration. Probably less over the gown than over the owner.
If Jenny didn’t want to mess with the sewing of Sally’s dress, she would certainly take over. Anything to help her friend bear the disappointment of Aaron’s choice. She took a seat and threaded her needle. The first poke through the striped silk coincided with Mrs. Burns’s first question.
“I heard you were helping that deaf boy learn to spell, Marylu. Is it true?”
Behind the woman’s back, Marylu raised her eyes from the dress,
Sure, he stirred things in her that had lain dormant since Walter, but circumstances were different now. She had changed. Matured. And she would not give her heart away so easily. Weariness settled over her shoulders. It seemed she often chided herself with the same argument, when it would be so much easier to simply allow the feelings Chester stirred in her heart.
Marylu steeled herself and stared at a point over his shoulder. She said the letter A, then formed it with her tongue in a melodramatic way that allowed him to see how her tongue moved. He tried to imitate. The sound was garbled, but she made him try again, over and over. They worked through the first six letters.
He concentrated hard and worked even harder, doing his best to follow her directions. Seeing his torn tongue made her heart sad, and several times it came to her mind to ask him about the incident. About the rumor that he had murdered. But to watch the fervor with which he worked to regain his speech and to learn to read, she reasoned it had to be the idle talk of a bored woman. Mrs. Burns’s reputation as a gossip preceded her. And Chester had no way of defending himself against rumors, whether true or not. One day, when he could communicate better, she would ask him about it. At the quick rate with which he picked up on the alphabet and the few small words, she would not have to wait long.
The arguments, for and against Chester, ran through her head as they worked together over the next hour. And new things were added to the list of sensations and tenderness his presence stirred.
The flicker of the lantern light against his skin, smooth and dark like leather.
The way his eyes squinted when he concentrated.
And when he raised his eyes to hers after a particular triumph, the warm glow in the depths of his maple syrup gaze spilled over her like warm honey.
When they took a break from speech and went back to writing, he couldn’t seem to remember the right way to hold the pencil. She demonstrated a new way. When he couldn’t quite get his fingers into the right position, she took his hand in hers and curled his long fingers around the instrument, suspecting all along that his forgetfulness had little to do with his mind and everything to do with her touch. And she played along. On those occasions when their eyes did meet, she tried to cover what his gaze stirred by concentrating on the slate or ignoring him, but she couldn’t deny it to herself.
Evening after evening, for an entire week, they worked, and when she walked into McGreary’s dress shop that bright Friday morning and saw Mrs. Burns standing in front of the mirror for a fitting, Marylu made up her mind to draw out the woman more on the accusation against Chester.
Jenny stood with a mouthful of pins, as was usual for her during a fitting. It came to Marylu in that moment that she would have to do very little to coax Mrs. Burns to speak up about Chester. So she sidled up next to Jenny and prepared to get down on the floor to pin the hem.
Jenny stopped her and took the pins from her mouth. “I’m having trouble on that dress.” Jenny jerked her head to indicate the table behind her.
Marylu noticed the striped material of Sally Worth’s gown. The one she’d come in to the shop to have Jenny make so she could brag about her “date” with Aaron Walck. As Marylu ran her fingers over the material, she saw the ripped threads, evidence of Jenny’s frustration. Probably less over the gown than over the owner.
If Jenny didn’t want to mess with the sewing of Sally’s dress, she would certainly take over. Anything to help her friend bear the disappointment of Aaron’s choice. She took a seat and threaded her needle. The first poke through the striped silk coincided with Mrs. Burns’s first question.
“I heard you were helping that deaf boy learn to spell, Marylu. Is it true?”
Behind the woman’s back, Marylu raised her eyes from the dress,
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