Authors: Verna Clay
As if it were a rare flower, Miles fingered the book and slowly flipped through the pages. When he looked up, he said, "I'm so proud of you."
Tooty hadn't expected that and blinked rapidly against tears. "I-I need to be alone for a few minutes." She rushed from the room and headed toward the quiet spot she often enjoyed.
* * *
Through the window, Miles watched Tooty run toward the trees. Lovingly, he turned to the first page of her book and started reading. The book wasn't long, only forty pages, but it was beautifully written and illustrated. As he read, he fell even more in love with his sweet young wife. He read the last poem and his heart stopped.
My Bright Man
His eyes, the color of love
Paint my soul with living shades
He is the shadow of my dreams
He knows me as no other
Will I ever meet him?
Do miles separate us?
Or is he the bright star in my backyard?
Is he fey?
Or is he man?
He is near, yet so far.
I am young, but old in hurt.
He is old, but unaware of his youth.
We are paradoxes of ourselves.
How shall we end our sweet torment?
A week after Tooty had shown Miles her book, she knocked on his bedroom door and it slid open a crack. He hadn't said anything about the last poem, although he'd been very encouraging about her writing. Hesitantly, she peeked inside. "Miles," she said softly. The room was empty. A movement out his window caught her attention and she saw him rolling toward the trees. She'd wanted to ask his opinion on an idea she had about redecorating the boys' bedroom, but more importantly, she'd wanted to tell him about receiving her first email from a fan. It made her giddy just knowing someone had read
Sweet Torment
and liked it enough to shoot her an email.
As she turned to leave, she noticed a paper on the floor. Bending to retrieve it, she reached to set it on the desk, but stopped short when she saw her name. Feeling like a snoop, but unable to reel in her curiosity, she read the sentence with her name. Gasping, she read everything and then reread it to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Placing the page back on the floor where she'd found it, she stepped from her husband's room and went to the porch swing, pondering what she'd read.
Harris and Eli burst through the front door and onto the porch. "Where's Daddy going?" Harris pointed at Miles, now stopped at the edge of the drive and close to the trees.
"I think he's just enjoying the lovely fall leaves. He'll be back soon."
"Can me and Eli play on the grass before it gets dark?"
"Sure."
For the next hour, Tooty watched her boys play while Miles sat near the tree line. At dusk, she called her children inside to take baths. She heard Miles enter the house and then his bedroom door open and close.
Later, she and Miles and the boys ate leftovers and then he tucked their sons into bed and returned to his room. Tooty soaked in a bath fragrant with lilac salts. Pinning her hair up and dressing in a simple cotton gown with spaghetti straps, she sucked two shaky breaths, left the bathroom, and knocked on Miles door. Without waiting for him to open it or call her in, she cracked the door. "May I come in," she asked without looking around it.
"Of course."
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it. Miles lay on his bed, his head propped on a pillow, with a book in his hands. He laid the book against his chest and looked questioningly at her.
Tooty's pulse pounded in her throat. Hesitantly at first, and then with more courage, she stepped forward until she stood above the bed. Never taking her eyes from her husband's glittering ones, she reached and began pulling pins from her hair. He didn't say anything.
She asked, "Do you love me, Miles?"
"Yes," he rasped, barely above a whisper.
She put her knees on the side of the bed and leaned her face toward his. When her lips were just inches above his, she asked, "How shall we end our sweet torment?"
Miles gently stroked his wife's face and hair where she lay on his chest. He kissed the top of her head. Never had he felt so fulfilled. They had loved each other all night and now dawn peeked through the window. Tooty had admitted during the night that she'd seen the fax sent to him by his agent. He smiled. His plan of showing her how much he loved her in a big way had happened in a small way. The dedication of his latest novel was devoted entirely to her and he'd written it to dispel any doubts she or the public might have about how he felt. He'd meant for it to be a great romantic act and the past weeks had been murder on him waiting for the book's release. So many times, he'd almost pulled Tooty into his arms and made passionate love to her. After reading her collection of beautiful poetry and the final poem,
My Bright Man,
he'd finally been slammed with the realization that she loved him deeply, and had done so for years.
Tooty sighed and kissed his chest. Rising above him, she smiled and rubbed her cute nose against his. He reached to stroke her cheek and promised, "We're going on a honeymoon."
She kissed his neck repeatedly. "Can we practice our honeymoon again before the boys get up?"
"Anything your heart desires." He placed his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth toward his. Before his lips touched hers, he said, "I'm so happy you found my dedication. I had another week to wait before the book came out and I was going crazy with wanting you."
"Now we can't have you going crazy," she teased, and then made him forget everything but her.
Dedication
The dedication of this book belongs solely to my wife. Without her, I would never have attempted such a romantic story because I would never have experienced the depths of passion necessary to convey the feelings of my characters. My wife is my heart, my joy, my creativity, my frustration, my soul, my friend, my lover, my everything. Tooty, I love you. I adore you. I need you.
* * *
Tooty's heart hammered when she tore open the envelope the attorney had sent her special delivery. He'd called to explain that Beatrice Shipley had left instructions for him to send the letter four years after she'd inherited the house if she was still living there.
She pulled the single page from the envelope and glanced at Miles. He nodded his encouragement. Inhaling, she read aloud.
My Dear Tooty,
I'm so happy you're still living in your lovely cottage. This letter will be my last. Of course, by now, no doubt you have read Annabelle's diary and hopefully applied any lessons learned to your own life. I trust you are happy, if not, keep seeking happiness. You will find it.
Tooty looked lovingly at Miles and smiled her happiness.
Now to get to the crux of my letter—it is my delight to inform you that Eli and Annabelle were our distant relatives and lived on the property you now own. There is a trail leading into the woods and at the end of the trail, near the river, you will see indentations from a long ago cabin. That was Eli's cabin which was enlarged later to accommodate his growing family. The main house where Annabelle grew up was in the very spot your home now rests. The old home was torn down in the 1940s and this one built. You probably don't know this yet, but Annabelle's mother's maiden name was Townsend. Seems we all share a distant grandfather.
As if Annabelle's diary is not treasure enough, you have one more to discover. No doubt it didn't take you long to decipher my clue as to whereabouts of the diary, and this clue is also simple. I'm sure you will work it out before long. When you find this treasure, there will also be a chart showing our family ancestry.
May the sweetness of Annabelle's diary guide you and yours through this journey we call life. I finished mine with regrets. Hopefully, you will have no regrets when you come to the end of yours. I wish you happiness, Tooty. Oh, lest I forget, here is the clue that will lead you to my final clue:
The pride of Annabelle is in her Pride.
—Beatrice Shipley
Tooty lay in bed facing Miles. After returning the previous week from a romantic three week honeymoon at Miles' villa in the Languedoc Valley of Southern France, they had fallen into a lovely routine of playing with the children, writing and editing each other's work, and making passionate love almost nightly.
Tonight, Tooty reread Beatrice's last letter aloud. When she folded the paper and put it back in the envelope, Miles said, "Maybe we're making this more complicated than it is."
"You're probably right."
"There is something I find curious, however."
"What's that?"
"She wrote the word 'pride' twice, capitalizing one and not the other?"
"Well, her writing is kind of scrawled. You know, old people are not always consistent in their handwriting."
"True. Maybe we should read the diary from the beginning and see if anything pops out."
"Okay. I'll get it." Tooty jumped from the bed and hastened to the desk drawer containing the box protecting the diary. Sitting Indian style next to Miles she began reading aloud. After a few minutes she came to these words:
After supper I decided to read to him. I pulled out my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice.
Tooty jerked her head up and looked at Miles with rounded eyes.
He said, "Tooty, maybe we're on to something. Aren't there a number of classical novels that came with the house?"
"Yes! I stored them in a box and put them on the top shelf of the boys' closet. I'd forgotten about them until now." She jumped off the bed and raced to her sons' bedroom. Tiptoeing in, she set a child's stool in front of the closet, stood on it, and reached toward the back of the shelf, pulling a cardboard box forward. With a grunt, she lifted the heavy box and carried it back to Miles. Setting it on the floor, her hands shook as she lifted the flaps and pulled out precious tomes. She called out each title,
"Treasure Island, The Time Machine, The Count of Monte Cristo, Little Women…"
After pulling out about twenty books, there were only two left and her heart sank. She lifted another one and turned it over. She gasped,
"Pride and Prejudice."
Jumping back onto the bed she held it out to Miles. "You open it, I'm too nervous."