“Aren’t you tired, Bentley?” she said abruptly. “You’ve been sick, and you really do need your rest.”
“Make up your mind, dearie. Do you want to run me ragged strolling the deck or do you want me to sleep? Can’t do both at once.”
Hope pursed her lips and refused to answer.
Bentley scowled, cleared her throat, tapped her cane, then said, “Aren’t you curious to know why I’m going to Virginia? Would have thought you’d ask by now.”
“Of course I’m curious.”
“Then why didn’t you ask?”
A blush kissed Hope’s cheeks. The old woman chuckled merrily. She seemed to take great pleasure in shocking people, Hope thought. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Bah! Probably the southerner in you. Don’t worry, you’ll get over it. You’ll learn soon enough that when you get to be my age, you can be as rude as the devil.” She smiled sweetly, her wrinkled features lighting up with pleasure. “One of the nice things about being old. There aren’t many—nice things, I mean—so I enjoy the ones I’ve got. So?” she huffed, adjusting her weight on the cane. “You going to ask me or am I going to have to be rude and tell you?”
Hope responded like an obedient child.“ All right, Bentley,” she said, as she pulled a flickering strand of her hair from her eyes. “Why are you going to Virginia?”
“To meet my great-nephew’s intended. Fiancée,” she mocked, the word sounding like a cuss on her tongue. “That’s what he calls her, but where I come from, in intended’s an intended.”
“You’re traveling all the way to Virginia to meet one woman? A stranger? It seems like a long way to go to meet someone. Why don’t they come to you? After all you’re older and—”
“Feeble,” the old woman supplied when Hope hesitated. “Got to learn to be more direct, dearie. If you mean feeble, say feeble. Now, where was I?” She tapped her cane as though to jog her memory and the tip clicked on the polished planks. “Oh, yes. I came from New York, only stopped in Boston—for all of three hours. I was planning to stay there, but my plans changed. It wasn’t my idea to traipse to Virginia. Un-uh. But my great-nephew insisted. Said this was the woman of his dreams—aren’t they all?—and that I had to meet her. He also said she wanted nothing to do with him.” She leaned toward Hope and whispered slyly, “He thinks I can talk some sense into her. I still haven’t figured out why. What can an old lady like me say to change a young girl’s mind?”
“I don’t know, but your great-nephew sounds very persuasive,” Hope muttered.
“Persuasive’s his middle name, along with stubborn, arrogant, and dern mule-headed. Never met a young man as headstrong and determined as him.”
“But you love him all the same,” Hope teased.
“Course I do. I’m here, aren’t I?” She paused, eying Hope appreciatively. “I should introduce you to him sometime. Together, you’d make quite the team. Like me and George. Can’t say I’d mind having you in the family, either. Fresh blood, especially yours, would do wonders for Cousin Judd’s heart, and it’d give the Ladies’ Guild something to talk about for weeks!”
“Please,” she replied with forced lightness, “I’m not in the market for a husband. Although I’m sure your great-nephew is very nice, I—” only want one man, she finished to herself. A picture of Drake—his hair enticingly rumpled, an endearing, lopsided grin on his lips—flashed through her mind. With a deep breath, she pushed the thought away. The breathtaking image was stubborn, however, and it refused to go quickly.
Hope should have known better. Bentley wasn’t fooled for a minute. Again, the cane tip-tapped on the beck. “Back to him again, are we? Didn’t think it would take too long. His name wouldn’t happen to be Drake would it?” Hope’s cheeks drained of color as she gripped the rail. Bentley just smiled. “Don’t look at me like that, dearie, you talk in your sleep. And at the most ungodly hours. I may be old, but I’m certainly not deaf.”
“What—um—what else did I say?” Please, God, let her say “nothing”!
“About Drake or the fire?”
Hope, in the process of swallowing hard, started to choke. Bentley gave a few clipped shots between her shoulder blades, stopping when Hope started to cough.
“I—cough—talked about—cough, cough—the fire? Damn! What else –cough did I say?”
“Catch your breath, dearie, you’re whiter than those sails up there. My, but they are high. Couldn’t get me to climb that skimpy rope if you pointed a cannon at my ankles and swore you’d light it.”
Hope caught her breath in record time. “What did I say, Bentley?” she gasped.
“Can’t remember it all.” She shook her gray head. “I’m old, don’t forget. My memory’s not what it used to be.” She paused thoughtfully and the cane started to tap-tap-tap. “Let’s see. You talked about this Drake, a lot. Said he was blond. Said he was tanned. Said things a lady doesn’t repeat—though I liked listening to them just fine, even if it was two o’clock in the morning.”
“And the fire?” Hope pressed flatly. “What did I say about the fire?”
“Which one?”
“Oh, God.”
The crooked fingers patted Hope’s hand, loosen
ing her fingers from their stranglehold on the sea-sickened teak rail. “It’s not like you could hide it, Hope. That scar on your back is an open invitation for questions.”