Chapter 11 Olivia #2
The phone clunked in her ear, and she caught another breath before standing.
While she’d known about the film option, she never thought a studio would actually make a movie from one of her books.
How strange it would be to see her work on a big screen, the people she’d created in her mind captured by a camera. Strange and wonderful.
Simon stood at the front door with a bouquet of mums that looked like pecan buns dabbed with butter.
“I thought you’d be waiting by the door,” he teased, his hands outstretched with the offering of autumn’s bounty.
“I was on the telephone.” She cradled the flowers in her arm. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”
He brushed back a cowlick that she thought charming, even though it aggravated him to no end. “That smile of yours could stop traffic.”
She plucked her coat and handbag off a peg. “It’s been a good morning.”
“As much as I’d like to think your smile was reserved for me, I suspect something else has happened.”
“Clinton called.”
His grin dimmed under the lilt of his eyebrows. “Should I be jealous?”
“Of course not,” she insisted even as her heart twittered. The question hinted at a relationship more than friendship. How was she to discern the truth of his feelings versus harmless flirting?
She rushed on with her explanation. “He’s ordering a second printing of Lavender Ridge before Christmas.”
“That’s marvelous news.” He kissed her cheek. “It must be selling extremely well.”
And it felt good between her and Simon. As a noted writer and speaker himself, her success wasn’t a threat or competition. Instead, he seemed genuinely happy about this news.
“And something else.” She took a long breath, still sorting through the news in her head. “A Hollywood studio has decided to make a movie from one of my earlier books. Clinton wants me to help them with the script, but . . .”
“I can’t imagine what’s wrong with that.”
Films had been banned in her childhood years, and she and Graham never discussed going to a movie theater. They’d been perfectly content reading, listening to her aunt play piano, hosting friends for dinner. “I’ve never even seen a film.”
“Surely, you’ve been to the theater at least once.”
“I’ve been to plays and the symphony but not a motion picture.”
“We’ll have to remedy that,” he said, and she took his offered arm. “This afternoon.”
Some of the content in films, she’d heard, was dreadful, and movies were still frowned upon at her church. But there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with a picture show, was there? Simon would never expose her to something baneful.
“Perhaps we shall,” she said as he escorted her out to his car like royalty. “But I hope we can have lunch before the theater. I’m famished.”
“Me too.”
“It’s such a long drive for you to come here for a meal, Simon.” Especially on these days when he returned to Ohio in the evening.
“I enjoy the company immensely on this end.”
She smiled. “You’re always welcome here.”
He removed a rag from his pocket, polishing off a smudge on her door before opening it.
The man was half in love with his automobile.
If he treated Ruthie as well as he treated the Pierce-Arrow, his wife had been well cared for.
And his future wife—for she was certain he would remarry—wouldn’t need to worry either about her well-being.
“Dr. Farrow,” Hattie called from the porch.
Olivia cringed, wishing they could ignore Hattie’s voice and speed away. Nothing good would come out of a conversation between the three of them.
He turned slowly, Olivia still standing beside the door. “Hello, Aunt Hattie.”
“Miss Belle is my name,” she said as matter-of-factly as if she were reciting the ingredients from a recipe card. “You’re taking away my niece again.”
“Only to lunch and a movie.”
Hattie’s voice climbed. “A movie?”
“Would you care to join us?” he asked.
Olivia replied on her aunt’s behalf. “She wanted to stay here.”
Hattie glanced back and forth between them. “I believe I’ve changed my mind.”
“Auntie—”
“You should have a chaperone.”
“I’m decades past the need to be chaperoned.”
Hattie frowned at Simon like he had a horn sprouting from his hair. “I don’t believe this man is who he says he is.”
“That’s enough, Hattie.” Somehow, her aunt had convinced herself that Simon was a crook instead of a gentleman, but if Simon were planning something malicious, he would have done so already.
“I’m happy to answer any of your questions, Miss Belle.”
“What are your intentions toward my niece?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Olivia blurted even though she was equally as curious since he’d yet to voice any plans.
When he spoke, his gaze returned to Olivia instead of Hattie. “I’m very much in love with her.”
Olivia’s heart soared even as she caught her breath, willing this moment to freeze in time. She was falling inside herself, feeling again what she thought she’d lost forever.
Perhaps a marriage between them wasn’t just a passing fancy.
Hattie wasn’t as enamored by Simon’s declaration. “You are thirteen years her junior.”
His eyes remained on Olivia as if he expected some sort of retort to her aunt’s words, but she was too stunned to react.
“Twelve years, I believe,” he said slowly. “But true love knows no age.”
“I pray, Dr. Farrow, that you would know the Lord.”
“I am quite content in my knowledge of God.”
Hattie tapped the housedress buckle that clasped her midsection. “But this knowledge must sink into the depths of your heart.”
“Please, Hattie.” Olivia begged her to stop before she ruined the entire day. None of them could peer into anyone’s heart.
“I fear for you, Olivia.”
“You shouldn’t. Simon has been nothing but kind.”
Hattie lingered near the bumper as if deciding whether she would join them. Then she backed away. “I will not be part of this.”
Olivia’s stomach tied in knots of regret and relief when Hattie retreated back to the porch. Why couldn’t her aunt simply be happy for her? Simon may not speak about spiritual matters like a minister, but he was reverent in his care and belief in God.
Why must things be so complicated?
Olivia climbed into the front seat and closed her door as Simon rounded the vehicle and slipped inside.
“I’m sorry about my aunt,” she said as he sped down her drive.
“She speaks from a place of love.” And protection.
Hattie’s trust was founded in God, but they both feared losing someone else they loved.
When Olivia returned, she would reassure Hattie that no matter what the future held, her love and care for her aunt would not be diminished.
Simon turned onto the dirt lane. “I’m not upset about her.”
“What’s the matter?” Confused about this man who’d just declared his love, Olivia clung to the edge of the seat in an attempt to steady herself as Simon raced through the trees.
He replied with a shake of his head, the dust clouding behind them, and she decided to wait until his mood passed.
The Lord knew how moody she was at times.
She could expect nothing less from this man beside her, equally as human.
One thing she’d learned from her years of marriage was sometimes one needed space to recuperate soundness of mind.
Lunch was spent in moderate silence, then he took her to see a movie at the Lititz theater—The Philadelphia Story starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant.
Olivia was swept away in the story about frustration and then forgiveness as a former husband and wife rekindled their romance.
Perhaps that was the power of a moving picture, inspiring audiences to laugh and cry and ultimately forgive, embracing those they loved in real life.
“Did you like the movie?” she asked as Simon drove back toward Haven House, both his hands on the wheel. Neither the food nor the lighthearted film took the edge off his mood.
“It’s as good as any I’ve seen.”
She pressed her gloved fingers together as if it would help her find the source of his frustration. “Are you angry at me?”
His gaze stayed on the road. “Your aunt accused me of being a heretic.”
“She was wrong to do that.”
“Yet you did nothing to defend me. I even declared my love for you, however misplaced, but you remained silent in my defense.”
She replayed the conversation in her mind, but with all the sentiment this afternoon, the haze of emotion, pieces seemed to be missing. She had told Hattie that she thought Simon kind, hadn’t she? It wasn’t as strong as love, of course, but his declaration had surprised her.
He tapped the brakes. “Have you any feeling toward me beyond friendship?”
“I do,” she said, peeling her glove up and then back down her fingers.
He pulled off the road and parked his Pierce-Arrow on the shoulder. “Then why didn’t you express it?”
If only he’d seen her staring into the mirror hours ago, her imagination wandering to the possibilities for their future, but she wasn’t elegant or outspoken like Katharine Hepburn. Most days, her strongest conversations remained in her head.
“My aunt was right about the differences in our age.”
He reached for her hand, stripped off its glove, and grasped it to his chest. “My heart beats just the same as yours.”
“Did you mean what you said about your love?”
“I did.”
She smiled. “Then our hearts beat similar indeed.”
When he kissed her hand, the touch of his lips shot through her skin.
“No one else can determine our future,” he said, steering the car back onto the road.
Except God, she thought but didn’t speak the words, not wanting to condemn his faith like her aunt had done. The sentiment between them was understood.
As he drove slowly up the lane, his hand lingered over hers. “And I hope my future is with you.”
She rested her head on his shoulder before she stepped out of the car, allowing the moments to pass in a contented silence, the foul mood forgotten as he held her close.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I’m afraid I hurt easily these days.”
“We’ll help each other find our way again.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I believe we will.”
Mrs. Farrow.
It would be a marvelous future indeed.