Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (38 page)

"Amen to that," Marcail agreed. She rose to get dessert, and Alex spoke again, having just remembered
something.

"Mrs. Nelson paid with a chicken today. I left it in the
barn."

"Why would you do that?" Marcail asked as she placed
a piece of pie before Alex.

"Well, I didn't think you'd want it in here; it's just in a
makeshift cage."

"It's alive?"

Since his mouth was full of food, Alex only nodded,
completely missing his wife's horrified stare. Marcail
gawked at her husband's bent head and then at her own
pie. Her mind ran with things she wanted to say, but she
stayed silent. "Maybe I can do it" was her last thought
before turning her attention to her own dessert.

"I can't do it." Marcail spoke to the quiet barn as she
looked into the dark, inquisitive eye of what was supposed to be dinner.

Nearly 48 hours had passed since Alex had calmly
announced that a patient had paid her bill in the form of
a live chicken. A determined Marcail had marched out
the next day, knife in hand, to do her job. After seeing
the chicken, her bravado lasted only a moment before
she returned to the house and made vegetable soup.

Now she was back in the barn and wishing she could
be anywhere else. Katie had always done the butchering
when they had been given an animal. Marcail knew that
it was a way of life to kill animals for food, but she'd
never been able to kill anything larger than an ant. To top
it off, "dinner" was starting to look hungry. Marcail
shook her head. It was no use. Even if she asked Alex to
kill it, she'd never be able to eat it.

With a move born of desperation, Marcail lifted the
cage. She carried it to the edge of the woods and opened
the funny little door.

The moment the chicken was free, she began to peck
around searching for food. Marcail, not wanting to think
about how she would explain to Alex, turned and walked
swiftly toward the house.

Alex stabled Kelsey and immediately noticed the
chicken was missing from the barn. He licked his lips in
anticipation of what was sure to be a great supper. He
knew from weeks of experience that Marcail was a good
cook, and he entered the house, a smile on his face,
ready for whatever she had prepared.

Unfortunately, one look at Marcail's stern profile told
him something was wrong. Since she'd been back from
Santa Rosa, he had seen the Marcail that Kaitlin had
spoken of-the Marcail whose face showed every emotion. He wasn't exactly certain, but it appeared to him
that her tight-lipped silence was from anger. To Alex's
mind this made no sense; they'd parted on very good
terms at lunch. Alex shrugged mentally and broke the
silence with what was sure to be the perfect comment.

"I thought I would smell chicken when I came in the
door tonight."

His voice was friendly, and he was totally unprepared
for his wife's reaction. Marcail spun to face him so quickly
that her hair flared around her back and shoulders.

"I cannot," she stated furiously, her eyes flashing with
ominous fire, "look something in the eye and then have it on my plate. The next time a patient pays you with an
animal, it had better be dead!"

Marcail turned away to finish cutting out the biscuits.
Her hand was moving the cutter so hard against the
breadboard it was leaving marks. Alex was relieved she'd
turned her back because his whole body was shaking
with silent laughter. He was not quite under control
when Marcail turned to look at him and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Ten minutes later Marcail finished putting the bowls
and plates on the table with unusual force, and they sat
down to eat. Alex kept his prayer of thanks very brief.
The meal was half over before he decided that Marcail
was calm.

"What did you do with the chicken?" Alex asked
conversationally.

"I let it go at the edge of the woods," she told him
softly. "I just couldn't bring myself to kill it."

"She won't survive, you know," Alex told her, compassion filling his voice. "Some fox or another predator
will make a meal of her."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"I'd have been glad to kill it if you'd asked me."

"I wouldn't have been able to pluck it, let alone eat it,
once I'd seen it alive."

Alex suddenly began to chuckle again.

"Don't you laugh at me, Alex Montgomery!" Marcail
tried to sound stern, but failed.

"Honestly, Marc, my mind raced to figure out what I'd
done, and lo and behold I'm in the doghouse over a
chicken."

Marcail finally saw the humor in the situation and
began to laugh herself.

"I was all right until an hour ago, when I sat here trying to figure out how to tell you what I'd done. Suddenly it all seemed to be your fault, and I worked myself
into a fine fury before you hit the door."

Alex was still laughing. "In the future, hang a dishcloth on the door so I'll have fair warning."

After the table was cleared and the dishes put away,
husband and wife took a walk. Alex held Marcail's hand,
and even though they talked some, most of the walk was
spent in quiet reflection and the joy of each other's company. They stopped in a field and were watching the sun
sink low in the sky when Marcail asked Alex a question
that had been on her mind since they'd left the house.

'Are you upset with me over the way I acted before
supper?"

"No.

'Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Alex told her as he pulled her over to sit
next to him on a huge boulder. "I realize it wasn't personal."

A peaceful smile passed over Marcail's face at his
words of understanding.

"What does that look mean?" Alex wanted to know.

"I'm just pleased at how comfortable I am with you
now."

"I'll admit it's very nice, just as long as you're not too
comfortable."

Marcail looked at him with no comprehension whatever. "I don't know what you mean."

"I don't want you to view me as a brother, Marcail, or
as a father figure."

Marcail was still not entirely sure what he meant. "Do
I do that?"

"I don't think so, but I can't really be sure." Marcail
was still looking at him strangely, and Alex knew it was
time for some straightforward honesty.

"I'm in love with you, Marcail," he told her without
apology, "and I'm not at all ashamed of the desire that
love stirs within me. I am glad that you're comfortable
with me, but I pray that at some point we'll have an
intimate, passionate marriage. That's why I said what I
did."

Marcail studied his face in the gathering dusk. 'Are
you afraid that I'm not a passionate person, Alex?"

Alex chucked softly and cupped her face in his hands.
'After witnessing you in the kitchen an hour ago, not in
the least."

Marcail smiled, and Alex bent his head. He pressed
his lips to her forehead and the tip of her nose before
finally claiming her lips. His kisses were tender, yet
growing more insistent, and Marcail was taking longer
to pull away every time he held her. But pull away she
did, and much to his credit, Alex did not rebuke her or so
much as frown in her direction.

He took her hand, and they walked back to the house
in silence. They retired as usual to their separate beds,
but even then Alex knew no frustration. That she was
coming around was very evident in her response to his
touch. Knowing this, and believing she was well worth
the wait, Alex could bide his time.

A week later Marcail walked into town just before
lunch, a picnic basket swinging from her arm. She still
felt compelled to wear dark dresses and her hair up, so
the walk was a warm one. Because she was no longer the
schoolteacher, Alex had told her he preferred to see her
dressed in lighter-colored clothing and with her hair
down. In sensitivity to her feelings, however, he left it to
her judgment as to when she would start dressing in
greater comfort for her visits to town.

Alex's office was on Willits' main street, directly across
from the bank and between a tiny dress shop and a
lawyer's office. Her face was flushed by the time she
arrived, but she knew the surprise she would be giving
him would be reward enough for her effort.

Alex did not disappoint her. His eyes lit with delight,
and since he had no patients, he took her into his arms
and held her for long minutes. They were in the back
room, and Alex would have been content to hold her for
the next hour, but the outer door opened. He dropped a
quick kiss on her upturned mouth and exited the room.

Marcail heard low voices, and then silence. A moment
later Alex was calling to her. A man whom Marcail had
never seen before stood beside Alex. He was obviously a businessman with his dark suit and shiny shoes. He held
a top hat in one hand.

"Mr. Duckworth, this is my wife. This is Sydney's
father, Richard Duckworth." Alex had turned to Marcail.
"He'd like to speak with you," Alex added.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Duckworth." Marcail's smile was pleasant, but her mind was abuzz with
reasons why he might wish to see her.

"The pleasure is all mine," Richard told her, and
meant it. Sydney had told him that his teacher was
beautiful, but Richard, remembering his own hero worship of many of his teachers, had taken his son's words
with a pinch of salt. He saw now that he should have
heeded them; Marcail Montgomery was a beauty. She
also seemed as sweet as she was lovely.

Well, no matter, Richard told himself. She could have the
face of a horse, and I'd still think she was beautiful for the
changes she's made in my Sydney.

"Why did you wish to see me?"

The sound of Marcail's voice made Richard realize
he'd been staring at her like a man who'd taken leave of
his senses. He cleared his throat and began.

"First, I'd like to thank you for the time and attention
you've given Sydney. It's made a tremendous change in
him, and his mother and I appreciate it."

"It really wasn't me, Mr. Duckworth. Hasn't Sydney
shared with you-"

"Oh, you mean this God stuff," the older man interrupted. "It doesn't matter how it happened, Mrs. Montgomery, only that something did happen. Now," he went
on before Marcail could correct him, "I understand that
there has been some disagreement over your contract.
I'm here to tell you that I want you as Sydney's teacher.
Name your terms for this fall, and I'll have the contract
typed up this afternoon."

"Is your mother feeling ill?" Marcail asked softly.

Richard stared at her, completely nonplussed. "No,"
he spoke, his voice filled with confusion. "I just left her,
and she was fine."

Marcail nodded. "I do not wish to undermine your
mother's authority. I've always dealt with Mr. Flynn or
your mother; I can't say I'm very comfortable in doing
something without them."

"Oh, well," Richard replied, thinking he understood,
"I'm taking over some of Mother's responsibilities, and
since I want you as teacher, I'm here in her stead."