Wishes and Dreams by Lurlene McDaniel

Ciana Beauchamp stared up at the thousands of stars gleaming down on her, still reeling from the dream that had awakened her. In it, she and Jon Mercer had been lying in sweetgrass by a river, holding each other. As they had done in days now gone, she reminded herself. Yet the dream had been so real. She’d felt Jon’s mouth on hers, his hands touching her skin, in the sort of mysterious evaporation process that can happen only in a dream. As he held her, wherever his mouth and hands lingered turned her hot and weak with need and desire. Her breath caught. Her hips rose. And just as he was to meld into her, she woke, breathing hard and trembling, unable and unwilling to let go of the sensations.
    There had been no falling back asleep after that. Restless, she’d come outside to stand on the lawn of her old Victorian house and watch the sky. In no time dawn would chase away the night and with it another long, hard workday would begin. Farm work was never done, not even when you owned the property—especially when you owned the property.
    “Ciana? You all right?”
    Ciana whirled at the sound of Eden McLauren’s voice from the steps of the porch, then watched her best friend pad across the dewy grass to stand alongside her.
    Startled, Ciana asked, “Why are you up so early?”
    “Potty break. Looked out the upstairs window and saw you standing here. Thought I’d better check it out.”
    “I had a dream and couldn’t get back to sleep. You should go inside. I’m fine.” Eden was a sleep-in kind of gal; getting up this early would only make her grouchy later on.
    “What kind of a dream? A nightmare?” Eden knew how Ciana worried and how hard she worked to keep her Tennessee farm, Bellmeade, from going under. Loss of sleep wasn’t good for her.
    “No nightmare.”
    “Then what? Let me guess. Did you dream about Jon? About the two of you together?”
    “Why is my dream life so suddenly interesting? I had a dream. It woke me up. I couldn’t get back to sleep. I came outside for fresh air.” In truth, Ciana was embarrassed by how the dream had aroused such potent sexual reactions. She buried her face in her hands. When it came to knowing Ciana, Eden’s internal radar was uncanny.
    “Sorry. I’ve had dreams like that myself, and just when I get to the good stuff, I wake up. It’s frustrating,” Eden said.
    “I’m fine,” Ciana repeated impatiently.
    “Dreams are symptoms of either what we want or what we fear. It’s how our subconscious talks to us,” Eden answered.
    “Please, skip the analysis.”
    Eden put her arm around Ciana’s waist. “Look, this has been a hard summer for all of us. No shame in your subconscious turning to pleasure. Wish mine could.”
    Ciana felt contrite. Eden was suffering too. The loss of their friend Arie went deep, and nothing could fix what had happened or replace what was gone. Remembering Arie, Ciana said, “I went to visit Arie’s grave yesterday. Put some fresh flowers in front of her headstone.”
    “You’re better about that than I am.” Eden stepped back, rubbed her arms, not because she was cold, but because the cemetery creeped her out. She’d gone once since the April funeral to pay her respects but had broken down and cried buckets, and couldn’t make herself return. “I don’t know how you do it.”
    “It’s peaceful there. Quiet and still.” Yesterday the sky had been blue and cloudless, the August air heavy with humidity that mingled with the scent of the bouquet she’d brought. It had all lent sweetness but underscored Ciana’s sadness. She’d sat on the ground in front of the grave; a trio of butterflies appeared from nowhere and settled on the petals of the flowers. Their appearance and beauty stopped her breath, and she saw the winged creatures as a metaphor for the friendship that had existed between Eden, Arie, and herself. The blue butterfly, the prettiest of the trio Ciana decided, represented Arie. The other two flitted away, but the