The Hideaway

“Feel better?” he asked when my fit was finally over.

“Tons.” I wiped my eyes.

“I think this place will be good for you.” He took my hand.

I instinctively tried to pull it away, but then I thought of Robert and AnnaBelle on the dance floor at the ball, his hand on her lower back, both of them oblivious to the openmouthed stares all around them. William’s hand was large and warm and it felt good.

“You can hide out while you figure out what to do next. But I should warn you: The Hideaway tends to make people want to stay.”

He squeezed my hand, and to my surprise, I squeezed back. Life already felt different.

Before heading back into the house for dinner, William took me to his workshop to show me a table he was building. “I’d love to know what you think about it,” he said as we crossed the grass between the house and the small woodshed where he did his work.

I looked up at him in surprise. Robert rarely asked my opinion about anything other than the doneness of a steak or whether the housekeeper had cleaned the kitchen well enough. The simple fact that William wanted to know what I thought about his work sent a spark of longing through my chest.

“You seem like someone who appreciates nice things. It’s not perfect, but I think it’s kind of nice.” He grinned at me and pushed the door open.

A table stood in the center of the room, lit by a single light hanging from a cord in the ceiling. I inhaled sharply. With his rough, calloused hands and joking manner, I’d expected something practical and useful, not such beauty.

The table was long and slim with oak boards stained a rich, dark brown, but the best part was the legs. Delicately carved vines and leaves snaked around each one. I knelt and ran my hand down one leg, my fingers following the shallow curves and twists of the carving.

“This is beautiful.” I looked back up at him.

“You sound surprised.”

I shook my head. “No, I—”

He laughed. “It’s okay. I’ve heard it before. I learned carving from my grandfather. He used to whittle sticks into little creatures—bears, dogs, cats. I tried it one day on a scrap piece of wood and discovered I was good at it.” He shrugged, then looked around the shop. “I didn’t realize it was so messy in here until now.”

Sawdust covered the floor like dew, and his tools were in disarray on his work surface. In the corner, broken pieces of wood sat in a jumble.

“I can help you straighten up, if you want.”

“You don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want you to get your clothes dirty.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Suit yourself.” He reached behind him and grabbed a broom, then held it out to me. “You can start with this.”

We got to work. I swept piles and piles of sawdust—the stuff seemed to multiply the more I swept—while he gathered loose boards and stacked them along one wall. It wasn’t long before we both grew warm and William pushed open the door to allow in a breeze. I paused in the open doorway and slipped my feet out of my heels, kicking them to the side.

“You’ll ruin those in no time.” William pointed at my legs covered in pantyhose. “You might as well take them off too.”

“What? My stockings?”

“If you haven’t noticed, you’re the only one here who wears those things. Well, you and Mrs. DeBerry.”

I looked down at my stocking feet. I could see the indentations on the top of my toes where the heels had dug into my skin. My heart beat a little faster as I reached down and pulled the thin silk off, one leg at a time. Then I dropped them in a pile on top of my shoes.

Lord, if Mother could see me now.

With the sweeping finished, I helped him organize his tools in his tool bag and on little hooks stuck into the wall. We worked in easy silence at first, then we began to talk. About his family and mine, about Robert and our marriage.

“I remember the night he arrived home from the war,” I said. “My parents and his were having dinner at the Battle House Hotel. Robert had his family’s chauffeur bring him to the dinner. Mother said when he pulled her to the side and asked about me, she knew he was going to propose. She burst into my bedroom late that night and told me all about it. She was so excited about the prospect of marrying me off—especially to the Van Buren family.”

“What makes them so special?” William asked.

“The Van Burens own Southern National Bank downtown. My father is an executive in the shipping industry. It helps my family to have a friend in the banking business—even better if we’re married to them.”

“I see. And did the proposal come quickly?”

“Not as quick as Mother would have liked.” I smiled. “We’d been friends before, but it wasn’t romantic. We had to get to know each other again. But something about him was different, more serious than I remembered.”

“I’d imagine war will do that to a man,” William said.

“I don’t know if it was the war or just that he decided it was time for us to be together. Everyone knew it would happen. I was never too comfortable with the idea that his parents and mine decided a long time ago that we’d be a perfect match for each other. I guess I just let myself be pulled along by everyone’s excitement. And the fact that Robert was quite charming didn’t hurt matters either.”

“Was it ever a perfect match?”

“I suppose in some ways it was. Just not in the way I wanted it to be.”

“And what way is that?”

I laughed a little and smoothed my hair with my hands. “My, you are direct, aren’t you?”

“I’m just curious about you. That’s all.”

I didn’t answer his question—after all, how could you explain true love, the kind that nurtures and respects, that honors and cherishes? That’s what I’d hoped for when I married Robert, even though all the signs pointed to him being unfamiliar with—and uninterested in—that kind of love. But I hardly knew William, and it felt silly to try to explain my heart.

“You wanted to be treasured.”

“I-I guess you could say that,” I said, stammering. “Instead, I got this life—and a husband—I hardly recognize. It’s not what I pictured, that’s for sure.”

I looked up to where he stood in front of the window, framed by the fading daylight outside. His gaze on me was so intense I had to turn my eyes away. I pushed off from the worktable where I’d been scraping spilled paint off the handle of a hammer. I wasn’t sure where to look or what to do with my hands. William crossed the floor toward me. When his fingers touched mine, I closed my eyes and exhaled.

Big and warm, his hand wrapped around mine. I wanted to close the distance between us with one more step, but propriety held me back. He dropped his gaze to our laced fingers. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, someone called from the house.

“Dinner!”

He leaned around me and peered through the window toward the house, then sighed and looked back at me. “I think it’s time for us to go,” he whispered. He held his elbow out to me. “May I escort you?”

I raised an eyebrow and smiled, then bit it back. I nodded and slipped my arm into his.

Dinner was a loud jumble of laughter and conversation, dishes passed down the long table, a wineglass spilled, chairs scraping against the hardwood floor. I tried to keep up with the conversations as well as I could, but William’s steady presence next to me scattered my thoughts. My fingers still tingled where he’d held my hand earlier, and I both wanted him to touch me again and was afraid of what might happen if he did.