Chapter Eighteen
Laura plucked leaves and stems from the basket of olives and tossed the fruit into one of the large, wooden crates before her.
Perhaps she would not tell Samuel what occupied the eighth month of her pregnancy. Her brother seemed to have trouble enough trying to reconcile his debutante sister with the one who could confidently tend a grapevine and milk a goat, let alone the one sitting here like a fat, old, farmer’s wife, working alongside drunkards and petty thieves as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
She wiggled her feet – they were aching and sore, even though she was seated. She had seen so much and done so much. How could she expect Samuel to reconcile the woman she was now, when even she had yet to come to terms with it?
Time. All it would take was time.
Not that there seemed to be a lot of it here at Arcadia. Harvest season for olives was short and they were already running behind. Every available man from the estate and some of the other villagers – about a dozen in all – had joined Elias in the fields to pick every last fruit from the trees. They worked from first light to last, barely stopping for a midday meal.
In the big storehouse closest to the olive grove, kept warm by the large stove used to dry the fruit, Laura sat beside another heavily-pregnant girl and, together, they continued with the task of stripping leaves.
Laura learned from Serafina, the housekeeper, through a mix of broken English and Laura’s own rudimentary understanding of Sicilian, that this girl, Gina, had gotten herself “in trouble” with one of the local boys. The girl looked about sixteen years old. Laura didn’t know where she had come from, only that she was an unfamiliar face that appeared at the kitchen table three mornings ago.
“Do you have a habit of doing this?” Laura had asked Elias once Serafina had taken the tearful Gina to find a place for her.
“Doing what?” he answered, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the tin pot sitting on the stove. Laura looked him over. It was only just past nine o’clock in the morning and he looked as though he had already done a full day’s work.
“Taking in everyone who walks through the door,” she continued.
Elias shrugged his shoulders and drained the cup of coffee in one draught. “Gina is a young woman who needs help and I have the opportunity to help her. Everyone who comes here has needed help. It’s just Christian charity to give it.”
The explanation, so casually tossed back, rankled. Laura watched Elias pick up a couple of small loaves and shove them into a satchel along with a hunk of cheese.
“And is that what you think of me? Am I an act of Christian charity?”
He paused.
“You know how I feel about you.”
“No, I don’t. How can I know? You made me an offer of marriage weeks ago and have said nothing of it since.”
“You refused, if I recall correctly.”
“Because you refused to tell me you loved me.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you I did?”
Elias’ eyes held hers a long moment. He set down his satchel and sighed. “Yes, then, if that’s what you want because I’m not sure I can take this any longer.
“Laura Cappleman, I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you. I prayed it would be otherwise, but here we are more than two years later, and I love you more than ever.”
Laura felt her mouth drop open.
“Was that what you needed to hear? For me to lay my heart bare before you?”
Something struck a chord in her. Her mouth dried along with any words she might have spoken.
Outside, she heard the sound of the field workers returning from their break. Elias, too, glanced through the window. He picked up his satchel then looked at her once more, expectantly, his eyes piercing her very soul. The light in them dimmed just a little as the silence stretched on. He shook his head, then headed toward the door.
“Forget I spoke,” he muttered and slammed the kitchen door closed behind him.
Slam!
Laura jumped out of her musings at the sound of another crate of olives being stacked onto the drying racks.
Rain had started to fall again. She could see it teeming outside through the windows and felt the cold damp seeping in as the field workers rushed inside to escape the worsening weather.
Gina leaned closer until Laura felt the girl bump shoulders. She gave a conspiratorial smile and spoke softly in simple Sicilian. “The Englishman is handsome, is he not?”
The girl nodded toward the knot of men drying by the fire. Elias stood out among them, his features bright and animated as he shared a joke with the other workers.
“A good man,” Gina affirmed. “I would want him for the father of my baby.”
So would I.
The thought came unbidden but Laura had to own the truth of it. The past two years had made her worldly wise in a way she had not wished to be and left her far from where she thought she would be.
Laura tossed another olive into the crate and picked up another branch.
And that was? Well, it should have been her getting married, setting up a household with a well-connected aristocrat. She would fill her days entertaining the great and the good, delighting in their appreciation of her art. “Oh really,” she would say, “you’re too kind, I’m merely a dabbler.”
And… it would be dull and stultifying.
Laura did her best to silence the unwelcome voice.
For the rest of the afternoon, she became aware of Gina following Elias’ every move as he helped the men prepare the millstone for the pressing of the oil, setting the first of the discs made from woven mats of esparto grass.
*
Just over two years ago, Kit Hardacre asked Elias for help. The very unconventional sea captain wanted to pay court in a very conventional way to a beautiful and intelligent young woman who had caught his eye. The fact the man was now wed to said young lady had more to do with Kit’s own charm than any advice he had given his captain.
That was why Elias was here in a storehouse, soaked to the skin on a cold December day, having spent that day mere feet away from the woman he had pledged devotion to. And yet, he was no closer to having his feelings returned.
He slapped one of the young farmhands on the back and told him to head back to the house to warm up and get a filling meal. Matteo accepted with alacrity, leaving him alone to finish the last of the chores. The stove would need to be well-stoked overnight to make sure the olives dried, ready for crushing.
Elias liked being around people. Nothing was more enlivening, but there were times when the need for solitude was a thirst his whole body demanded slaked. Elias reached for a broom and continued his musing, half-aware of the steady rhythmic rasp of it scraping dust, twigs and leaves along the worn stone floor.
He had faith in lots of things – God, his friends and comrades on the Calliope, the promise that to do good would mean the return of good things – but he was also a realist. And yet, today, there had been a particular look in Laura’s eyes every time they met. Not a coquettish look, nor the wide-eyed, misplaced adoration he had seen on girls he had helped. It was curious, searching… so what more could he do to convince her that his feelings were true.
What is truth?
The Pontius Pilate in his head showed no consideration. He gripped the broom harder until the joints in his fingers ached. In fact, everything ached. Thoughts of a warm bath and a hot meal were the only things his body craved at the moment.
And no wonder. They had harvested five hundred trees in three days. The fruits of their labor – Elias laughed tiredly at his own joke – were right in front of him. By his estimation, one hundred tons of fruit stood in the crates racked to the roof.
Matteo’s elderly father, Raffaele, was blind now but, according to the villagers, no one knew more about turning all that fruit into oil. He had worked for the Lisetto family for years, but they let him go after his eyesight failed, as Elias learned after discovering Matteo begging for work last year.
Elias had watched Raffaele with his son by his side, guiding him to one of crates to pick up an olive and roll it in his hand before bringing it up to his nose and breathing deep. Then he popped the fruit into his mouth and chewed meditatively. Raffaele swallowed the flesh and spat out the pit, ready to pronounce his verdict.
Molto bene. Very good.
Elias had breathed a sigh of relief.
All of this for only about four thousand gallons of oil.
Canned tuna in olive oil? Morwena’s idea was crazy. No, Elias corrected himself, it was audacious – it blended traditional Sicilian fare with the new age of industry but Morwena was never one to attend to the opinions of others – not in business, nor even their opinions of the man she had decided to marry.
Once she and Jonathan recognized their mutual feelings, they didn’t let anyone or anything stop them. Perhaps, Elias could learn something.
He had shown Laura in countless ways how he loved her – only he had not touched her, apart from the most benign of ways, and he warred with the primal part of his body that wanted to do so much more. But not until she felt the same, not until she was ready to join her life with his.
He put the broom away. With the storehouse prepared for crushing fruit tomorrow, he allowed himself to acknowledge the aches and pains of his physical labor. Even his appetite vanished in the face of utter exhaustion.
He listened to the sound of the rain, now settled in for the night. If he jogged back to the house, he wouldn’t get too soaked. He would ask Serafina to get one of the boys to prepare a bath. He’d even use the last of the Epsom salts he’d brought from England. Then he would attend to any correspondence. Perhaps, he could work himself into sleep.
Elias took a deep breath and his heart tumbled a few beats as an instinctive sense of alert filled him. It was a feeling he had not experienced for months but it now came back with jangling clarity.
He was not here alone.
It took him only a second to arm himself with a wooden-handled pruning knife, its sharp, hooked end catching the lamplight.
“Who’s there?”
He was still on alert when Laura stepped out from the shadows.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you heard me come in.” Laura looked at the knife pointedly. He placed it on the edge of a crate.
Elias nodded, his face grim. He didn’t know what disturbed him more – the fact he had overreacted to Laura’s appearance or that he was so consumed with his own thoughts he’d let someone sneak up on him. Neither thought was comforting.
“It’s been a long day.” He sighed, straightening his back. “What are you doing here? You should be inside in the warm.”
She rubbed her hand over her swollen stomach absently and looked about her with exaggerated intent. Then, she nodded to the stove.
“I am inside, and it’s warm.”
“I mean—”
“—I know what you mean.”
And suddenly they were just a hand’s span apart. He watched Laura take one of his hands in hers. Why had he never noticed the difference between a man’s hands and a woman’s? His fingers were long and tapered – one of the things which made playing guitar easy for him, but Laura’s were more slender still. Then there was the color. His were tanned golden with the sun, but hers were like blush marble.
He remained mesmerized as she placed his hand on her belly, gently pressing until his hands spread over where the baby lay. He felt a movement and let out a gasp when what felt what appeared to be a tiny foot pressed into the palm of his hand.
There was a sentimental side of him – one he suspected he inherited from his own father – that wanted cry out at the miracle he’d been permitted to experience that moment. But instead, he swallowed and looked into Laura’s eyes. Their forget-me-not blue warmed him from within.
“He has been restless all evening. No matter what I do, I can’t get comfortable. But he settled as soon as he heard your voice. Say something, Elias.”
“I love you, Laura.”
He saw her eyes widen at the words then his mouth descended to hers. He thought the kiss would be brief, a light caress, but, as soon as his lips touched hers and felt their soft texture, it deepened. He felt Laura’s mouth open under his. Instinct born from years of longing guided him where his experience lacked.
Their first kiss was everything he imagined it to be. The tentative touch of her tongue on his sent a jolt through him. He mirrored her action and was rewarded by a sigh that redoubled his own pleasure.
Eventually, it was he who stopped. He stroked one of Laura’s flushed cheeks; they were, indeed, as hot as their color indicated. But it was the look of surprise on her face that warmed him. No fear, no regret – perhaps no love yet, but he was a patient man.
“Elias, I…”
No. If the next words to come from her mouth were to be a rejection of him, he did not want to hear them. Not right now.
He placed a finger to her lips to forestall her.
“Shhh,” he said. “I’m only too aware my feelings are not returned, but to have you say so would be to ruin this moment and I’m not ready for that.”
He realized that one hand was still on her stomach, so he removed it, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. He could see the conflict behind those eyes and he understood it.
He crossed toward the door, collecting the lantern and increasing the wick so the flame glowed brighter. Through the small, square pane of glass in the transom at the top of the door, he saw the rain had eased but still fell.
“I have a question I need an answer to,” he said, looking back at her.
“I wish you wouldn’t ask; I don’t think I have answers to give you,” Laura replied. Her eyes were filled with pain.
“I think you do,” he reassured her with a soft smile. He pointed to the door. “Did you bring an umbrella? It’s still raining outside.”