Christie (30 page)

"You'll have someone fetch my bags, Jesse?"

"Christie, no! You cannot run away again. Please sit down for a moment. Think about what you're doing."

She looked at him for a moment, her face a portrait in pain, and at last the tears came, welling up in huge sobs which racked her whole body as she threw herself into his arms.

"Oh, Jesse, it was a mistake, a mistake to ever stay here, to hope that—oh, I don't know what, but whatever hopes I had, they are dashed to fragments now." She sobbed. "I
must
leave! Can't you see—"

"It's running away again, Christie. Running away, instead of grabbing the horns—"

"No, Jesse. I don't think so," she said, looking up at him through her tears. "This time I must leave because of others, not because of myself. Don't you see? My love for him has brought enough pain into my own life as well as discomfort to his—and my father's. But now it threatens to bring dissension between the two of you! I cannot allow that, Jesse. I must not threaten the love between you two brothers!"

"And if I tell you that, despite everything looking as black as it does now, I believe that won't happen, that the bond between Garrett and me goes deeper than his rage of the moment, will you listen and believe what I say? I know my brother. He may have said some unspeakable things just now, but it's
why
he said them that gives me faith in what the future may hold for the two of you—for all of us."

"Faith! How?"

"Yes, faith! Christie, I saw my brother's face tonight; I saw his eyes as they were unguarded for a moment, and what I saw there was hurt and—yes, pain. Those are things I long assumed not to exist for him any longer, to lie dead and buried with the events
of twenty years ago! But now I know they're not. You, Christie, have taught him to
feel
again. And that means, if he can be hurt by a woman, he can love
again, too. Now," he added, taking her gently by the shoulders and looking down into her uncertain face, "isn't that worth staying for?"

Gnawing doubt fought with dawning hope as indecision marked Christie's face. Her feelings at first seeing him again had been chaotically unsettling, far more so than she had ever prepared herself for in all these lonely months without him. As it was, the mere sound of his voice, his tall, heart-stopping presence there in the entryway, had instantly swept her back to that earlier time, those ephemeral, fleeting moments when they had been briefly happy, and she had been prepared to run to him, begging a chance to try again, to love him even in the face of his inability to love her back, if only they could be together. But in seconds he had arrested that blind, momentary hope that such things could ever be, and she had then resolved to leave and to end their tortured relationship.

Now at Jesse's words, the tug of hope was once again assaulting her heartstrings, and she wondered how much more they could bear of such conflicting pulls before they finally snapped and broke.

At last she said, "I hope you're right, Jesse. God knows, you've got
to be right! I—I'll stay."

Lula's dark face alternately shimmered and faded, but slowly came into focus as Garrett regained consciousness.

"Your brother's fist sure knows its business,"
murmured Lula as she wrung out a cold towel and placed it over his bruised jaw.

Wincing as he raised himself to a sitting position, Garrett threw her a shriveling look.

"You will not call him 'brother' to my face again, woman. Understand?"

"Captain Randall, please, you can't mean what you just said. That baby your wife's carrying—"

"Enough, Lula! It seems that while your speech has altered, clearly your loyalties haven't. I'll hear no more of my
wife
or her
bastard,
either!"

He rose unsteadily to his feet and went to retrieve his coat where it lay on a chest near the door.

"But, Captain, the baby's coming in March! You can't be thinking it belongs to anyone but—"

"Silence your tongue or suffer the consequences, woman!" he snarled. "I've had my fill of female lies!"

Then, in one stride, he reached the door and opened it before turning briefly in her direction.

"I'm leaving. If anyone needs to reach me, a message may be sent through Carlisle's office."

And turning once more, he stepped through the door, slammed it shut, and was gone.

Chapter Twenty Two

The days of the new year passed as winter spun its gray, rainy course in the Carolinas, and with the coming of spring, as Christie's time drew near, bits of color and greenery began to emerge and lend hope to the dreary landscape.

Word came that Garrett was living in Charleston, and when Jesse learned he had taken lodgings at Lucille Baker's "Setting Sun," a lavish brothel on the western end of the city, he did not mention it to anyone.

Charles stayed on at Riverlea, sending a message to Barnaby Rutledge to inform him of the current state of things and to ask him to take care of their affairs in his absence. He found himself extremely apprehensive about the coming birth of the child, owing to his own memories of Christie's arrival at the cost of Jennifer's life, and, realizing this, through what seemed to her an increased sensitivity to others, Christie devoted much of her energy toward attempts at allaying his fears.

Lula and Laughing Bear gave signs of moving toward a formal cementing of their relationship,
although little was said about the exact form that would take. Not the least happy over this was Jasper, who began to be seen frequently in the company of the Indian, or the brave and his mother. Sometimes the three of them would take an excursion into the mountains of Cherokee country, at others the red man taught the boy to ride, fish, and hunt in the ways of his people. Lula herself reached a competent degree of proficiency at riding and caring for horses, and while she loudly made it known she would never love the beasts, there appeared a curiously proud gleam in her eyes whenever she sat astride the perky little mare she called "Hoss-Sense," her gift from Laughing Bear.

One evening in early March, as Christie was sitting with Jesse and Charles in the informal parlor, the discussion turned to a topic of interest to all of them—horses.

"Did you ever find that blooded stud with strong Arabian lines to use in your breeding program?" asked Charles. He sat in a tall comb-back Windsor armchair near the fire, drawing thoughtfully on a pipe as he spoke.

"No, believe it or not," answered Jesse, stretching his long legs toward the fire from his seat on the settle next to Christie. "With my brother's absence, I'm afraid there's been an appalling lack of thought put to that business, and you remind me of how remiss I've been in this. There was a black for sale upriver from here last summer, but he's long gone, and, to tell the truth, I've no other prospects lined up."

A mischievous twinkle in her eye, Christie looked askance at her father, saying, "Once the babe arrives,
I don't suppose I'll have as much time to go riding, and I hate to see Thunder standing around doing nothing. Of course, Jesse, you've been good enough to keep him exercised for me during these months of my—limited activity—but don't you think—"

"Christianna Marcy, you tenacious little wench, you wouldn't be hinting about breeding that stallion of yours again, now, would you?" queried Charles.

"Well," replied Christie, "it's just that Jesse was telling me only yesterday, that his mare, Gypsy, is coming into season soon, and I've had a good look at her lines, and—"

"And you were just thinking that mayhap you could persuade me to change my mind about Thunder," finished Charles.

"Oh, Father, think of the exciting possibilities!" she said, animation coloring her voice. "Take the match of Thunder with Gypsy, for example. You've not looked at her that closely, I know. As a matter of fact, I had planned to take you on a tour past her stall this morning, but this miserable backache prevented it. Perhaps, tomorrow, if you'll just take a careful look at her—"

Suddenly, her face gone pale, she bent forward, clutching the tiny gown she had been embroidering.

"Christie! What is it? Are you—?"

"Is it the babe coming?" asked Jesse, interrupting quietly when he heard the alarm in her father's voice.

"I—I think so," she answered, her words coming out short and breathless, "although I've been told the early pains aren't too severe, this one," she added, straightening, "was hardly what I'd call a trifle."

"I'll call Mattie," said Jesse, turning toward her to
help her up. "But first, let's get you upstairs."

"What about the midwife?" asked Charles, his own face ashen, "or the doctor—maybe a doctor would be best."

"Nonsense, Father," said Christie, standing now, and leaning on Jesse's arm. "Mistress Andrews lives on a neighboring farm, and the doctor is miles away. Besides, it's all been planned. Now, would you please fetch Lula for me, Father?"

"Of course, of course," said Charles, hastening to do her bidding, "but I still think a doctor standing by cannot do any harm," he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

When he had gone, Christie bit her lip as she clung to Jesse's arm, her knuckles white on his sleeve.

"Christie?" asked Jesse. "Are you—?"

Then, seeing the pain was too great for her to answer, he swung his arm under her and began to carry her swiftly toward the stairs at the end of the room.

"Mattie!" he yelled, as the white-haired woman appeared in the doorway Charles had just gone through. "Alert everyone. Mistress Randall's gone into labor!"

Jesse carried her to her room as the house became a throbbing swarm of activity. Leaving her there with Lula while he sent for the midwife, he then went to check on Charles who, he suspected, might need every bit as much tending as his daughter before this night was over.

Mistress Andrews arrived two hours later and joined Lula in the vigil, which was expected to last for many hours yet, and Jesse took Charles to his
study, where he plied him liberally with brandy and small talk.

A few hours later, Christie's water broke, and the pains came regularly, but did not seem to increase in frequency, as the midwife pointed out to Lula, who refused to sleep, keeping all of her attention focused on her young friend and mistress. By dawn, Mistress Andrews announced it was to be a particularly long, hard labor, but as this was frequently so_in cases with the first child, there was no need to worry.

At sundown of the following day, a tired, anxious-looking Lula made her way carefully into the study where Charles and Jesse dozed.

"Pssst! Mr. Jesse! It's me, Lula," she whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure she hadn't awakened Charles.

"Yes, Lula, what is it? Is the child—?"

"Nothing yet," said Lula quietly. "And that's what worries me. Mr. Jesse, ah've been around enough birthings before, brought enough of mah own poor children, dead and alive, into the world, to know this is no ordinary birthing. We're not making enough progress, sir. Something's wrong, and that poor child's lying up there suffering something awful with it."

"What does Mistress Andrews say, Lula?"

"Well, that's a problem. She won't admit it's out of her hands, but her eyes look mighty worried. Ah say we send for a doctor, though ah'm not sure he's going to know a whole lot more," she said, looking away as she spoke.

"I'll go for him myself, Lula. You do what you can to make her comfortable."

"Ah will, but sir? If you don't mind, may ah suggest you stay here? We need you to shore Mr. Charles up. Ah kin send Jasper and one of the men for the doctor."

"You're probably right, Lula. Do it, then."

When Jesse came back from looking in on Christie, his face wore a distressed look, and he said a prayer of thanks that Charles was still asleep. Although Christie had tried to appear brave, the lines of pain and exhaustion had clearly shown on her face, and Jesse was worried. Jasper and Abel, one of the grooms, had been sent for Doc Harris, but a storm was brewing and from the looks of it, they would soon be deluged by the kind of heavy spring rains that often made the roads impassable. Moreover, he was beset by the feeling that Garrett ought to be with them, while at the same time, he experienced a sense of helplessness at knowing that Garrett wouldn't be and there was nothing he could do about it.

At four in the afternoon, a rain-soaked, mud-splattered Jasper came back to tell them the doctor was out of town and unavailable. This came swiftly on the heels of Mistress Andrews' admission that it was a complicated birth and beyond her knowledge. Charles began to pace the floor of the study where he had remained for most of the night and day, raging and ranting unintelligibly through the liquor Jesse had gotten him to consume; and Jesse himself began to feel defeat.

Shortly after eight o'clock, Lula knocked softly on the study door, and when Jesse opened it, his face fell at what he saw. There were tears in the black woman's eyes as she stood there, and her shoulders
hung in drooping defeat.

"Ah'm afraid she isn't going to make it, Mr. Jesse. And now she's taken to fitful sleep between the pains, talking about all sorts of crazy things, and she keeps calling for Captain Randall—Mr. Garrett, and ah can't stand waiting around anymore, waiting for . . .. Mr. Jesse, ah've gotta go to try to see if ah can fetch the captain. Please, sir!"

Jesse's face mirrored the despair he felt. If he had thought it would do any good, he would have ridden for Garrett hours ago. What chance did this tiny black woman have?

"The rain's been rather heavy, Lula. I'm not sure you could even make Charleston safely."

"Ah know a way over the high ground, sir," she said, "an Indian way, and it's shorter, too. Oh, please let me go! Ah'11 take one of the men with me."

Feeling the urgency behind her words, at last Jesse decided they had little to lose, and sighing wearily, he said, "You'll need to know where to find him."

"Anyone can direct me to the 'Setting Sun.'" Lula smiled ruefully.