Page 29 of Hers By Summer’s End

Cecelia angled toward him, propping one elbow on the back of the bench and resting her cheek in her hand.

“She’s the reason I ever entered a flower contest. I promised her I would. Took me a year after she died before I managed it, but I did.”

“The Sherwood Garden Club,” she said, realization dawning. “Your delphiniums stole the show.”

“I think she was there with me that day. She helped me to my first victory.” His eyes twinkled. “And made sure I met my petal.”

Without quite deciding to, she reached for his hand. His fingers closed around hers at once. Holding hands with a man in public was improper, even scandalous. She glanced around, but everyone seemed far too occupied with their own amusements to notice. Even if they did—she couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered was the man baring his soul.

“How did she pass?” she asked softly.

“Tuberculosis.” He studied their joined hands as he spoke, his thumb making a slow, repetitive pass over her knuckles. “That’s why we moved to Queen Anne. For the better air. She improved for a while, and I even dared to hope she’d beaten it.” He paused to clear his throat. “But she didn’t. It’s been just me and Granddad ever since.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You understand it,” he said quietly. “The pain that comes when someone you love is afflicted with sickness.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

The admission cost her more than she’d expected. Memories she had kept carefully folded away began to stir. The cloying smell of medicine, the quiet of sickrooms, the terrible finality of realizing that wishing could not make someone better. Discomfort pricked beneath her skin, but it was the pain of growing. Of revealing the places inside her that no one else had been invited to enter.

“We moved to Queen Anne when I was a girl for the same reason you did. My younger brother, Chester, had inflammatory rheumatism. There wasn’t much the hospitals could do. None of them were prepared to care for children like him.” She gripped his hand. “He died when he was eight years old. I was ten.”

Drew’s hand closed firmly around hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I suppose we never had reason to talk about it, though it feels good to do so now,” she admitted. “He’s the reason Mother and I are so involved with the new Children’s Hospital. We contribute funds, of course, but Mother has found purpose with the Hospital Guild. I found mine in brightening the front hall every week with a fresh bouquet.” She looked toward the fountain, where the last light danced across the cascading water. “We can’t change what happened to Chester. But if we can spare another family even a little of the pain we experienced, then we are content.”

“That’s a kind way to honor his memory.”

She nodded. “After Father died, the Guild became Mother’s haven. The nurses were the first to recognize the signs of polio.”

“I wasn’t certain I should ask.”

“That’s understandable, but it’s all right. Truly.” Her gaze returned to him. “Most people see an invalid in a chair. I see an indomitable woman. And the way you and Granddad treat her—as if she were any other woman—has made her glow. I’m grateful to you both.”

“No sense in treating someone poorly just because they look or act differently.”

Her heart ached again, but this time she smiled. She and Drew were different in so many ways, yet in the places that mattered most, they seemed to understand each other without explanation. She squeezed his hand. “Perhaps not, but it is a kindness.”

“I could say the same about you. I know your dahlia garden once occupied your whole yard, and it occurs to me, at long last, that those gravel paths are for your mother’s chair.”

She wrinkled her nose—her gossiping cousin again, she expected. “It wasn’t a hard decision,” she said. “Before Mother became ill, she accompanied me on field excursions. The woodland meadow was always her favorite. She’d bring a blanket and a book and have the time of her life while I collected specimens. Once she could no longer walk, I brought the woodlands home to her.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” He squeezed her hand again. “I’m lucky to have you.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them as the last light of the day faded. Around them, electric lights flickered to life. Cecelia caught her breath as thousands of small bulbs traced the ivory buildings until they glowed beneath the night sky. Then the fountain came alive. Light rose from beneath the falling water, each tier blooming into a different shade until the entire waterfall shimmered with the colors of the rainbow. At the basin below, a glittering column of water erupted skyward.

She rose to her feet, her heart thudding. Drew stood beside her, his arm pressing warmly against hers.

“This is my favorite part of the day,” he said softly. “I’m glad I could finally share it with you.”

“It’s spectacular,” she breathed. “I don’t know how the fireworks can possibly compare.”

“Do you still want to see them? If not, we could…we could⁠—”

His voice trailed off. Cecelia tore her gaze from the fountain. Drew’s face was serious, but there was hope in his eyes. Not a subtle hope, either. The sort of hope that made her knees quiver and her pulse race.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I believe you’ve lost your nerve.”