Read Online The Touch by Randall Wallace - Free Book Online

considered these lapses into peace and awe and a sense of being a part of something beyond the capacities of her intellect to be dangerous. Whenever she experienced such moments—a brush with unexpected beauty, a sense of a message of love coming to her when she heard no voice and believed in no Speaker—she accepted them absolutely, during the very moment when she felt them. But afterwards she always told herself she had felt nothing except her own longings, and those longings she considered pitiful at best and dangerous at worst. She tried to keep such longings—for connection, for union, for peace, and . . . yes, for love—out of her mind and out of her life. That’s why they were her secret self.
    Something about Jones spoke to that secret self. And while Lara had always been careful to keep men far enough from her own attractiveness so that she could do business with them, she now felt she must keep herself far enough from Jones so that she would not do something stupid and even potentially disastrous, something like falling in love.
    So she showered and washed her hair and brushed it back simply and kept the makeup to a minimum and wore a navy blue jacket with slacks and low heels and only a strand of pearls, the ones her father had brought back to her from a trip to Japan, and she told herself she was dressed in a thoroughly businesslike way; but she did look at herself in the mirror for a long time, and used a fingernail to perfect the lipstick at the corner of her mouth, and brushed her hair again and checked herself in the full-length mirror beside the door of her room before she headed downstairs.
    When she stepped into the lobby, Jones surprised her by being there already, standing by the windows, looking out into the night. As he saw her reflection he turned to her and smiled. He had showered too—his hair still looked a bit damp—and now sporting a coat and tie, he looked great. “Hi. I . . .” she began, and for the first time since they met, she seemed unsure what to say next. But indecision never lasted long with Lara; she told him, “We have a few minutes before our reservation and I’ve been sitting most of the day. Do you mind if we walk around the block before dinner?”
    â€œNot at all,” he said. “I could use some fresh air myself.”
    They turned to the door and bumped into each other as he moved to hold it open for her. They both laughed.
    * * *
    The sharp cold of a cloudless November night in Virginia stung their faces and the air prickled as it filled their lungs; the temptation to turn right around and go back inside could have been strong, but both Lara and Jones were smiling as they breathed deep and took in the black sky blazing with billions of stars. Lara could not remember ever having seen so many, and silently she told herself, Don’t start doing that, Lara; don’t be looking at the stars and thinking you’ve never seen them so bright. They strolled along the sidewalk of Charlottesville’s central street, and Lara said, “The Jeffersonian Hotel, Jefferson Restaurant, Jefferson Muffler-and-Mule Feed. . . . Does this town have a fetish?”
    â€œJefferson set the tone for Virginia with designs he built here. Monticello, the University . . .”
    â€œDid you carve him too?”
    â€œHe’s my favorite. ‘I have sworn, upon the altar of God, eternal enmity—’”
    She finished the quote: “‘—against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.’”
    He looked at her in surprise. She smiled.
    â€œYou like Virginia?” she asked.
    â€œI love Virginia. Especially this part, the Piedmont, the ‘foot of the mountains,’ where the coastal plain collides with the Blue Ridge. Virginia has such rich history—the first permanent colony of Europeans landed at Jamestown in 1607; the Pilgrims in Massachusetts had better publicists,