Whispers of the Heart (2 page)

“Sir, should you...?”

“Go away, Mrs. ... Mrs. ...”

“Guthrie, sir.”

“I know, now go away now, Mrs. ...”

“Guthrie, sir.”

“I know!”

“Certainly, sir, and I’ll be happy to take my leave of you, but perhaps I’d best take the bourbon along as well. What little there is left, that is.”

“Touch it and you’re fired!”

“Drinking yourself into a stupor isn’t going to bring...”

“Say it, and I’ll kill you.”

“Aye, well, you’ll certainly be regretting this behavior come morning, and I will for certain be making you.”

“Go away!” Dalian said through gritted teeth.

“Aye, sir, and I’ll see to the guests for you,” she said, backing toward the study door. “And I’ll make certain you’re not disturbed. Not that anyone would want to be in your company right now.”

The door closed softly, leaving Dalian Rivers alone with his drink and his mourning. He pushed himself onto unsteady legs, spotted the chair, and took careful aim, plunking his butt soundly into the seat. The bourbon bottle tipped during his efforts and a small bit spilled onto his pant leg before he could right it. His brow furrowed in confused irritation, as the odor drifted into his nostrils, then he noticed the bottle of amber liquid grasped in his hand.
How did that get there?
He wondered. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter.” He lifted the decanter and swallowed another substantial gulp, then lowered the crystal container, gasping. The burning subsided in his throat and the warmth enveloping his stomach intensified. His head suddenly felt too heavy for his shoulders, so he let it fall back on the headrest. He stared at the ceiling, but the splatters of paint rapidly began configuring into the shape of his dead wife and unborn baby, so he pulled his head up. It was taking a Herculean effort to keep his skull steady, so he finally gave up and let it collapse onto the desk.

Then the tears started falling.

September 2060

Covington, Georgia

“Do you think that the resurgence has to do with the upcoming hearing?”

Kathryn was sitting across from her publisher and best friend, Janet Ackers, drinking a mocha cappuccino in the cool fall afternoon. The open-air café was a known haunt for writers, publishers, and agents, which is why Kathryn usually avoided coming, but Janet insisted.
You need to get outside, Kat
, she’d said with her usual mother-hen concern, and then added, with a hint of a threat,
and if you don’t come, I won’t publish your next book
.

Kathryn knew it was a bluff, but consented because her publisher was right about needing to get out more. A look in the mirror this morning as she was getting ready clarified that point. Her normally sun-bronzed complexion was getting a bit pasty, and if she continued behaving as a hermit, writing day in and day out, she would soon start to look like a zombie. After a year-and-a-half, it was time to hang up the clothing of a recluse, and return to civilization.

“It’s a distinct possibility that the hearing is to blame,” Kathryn said, lifting her cup and gingerly sipping the hot brew. “If this whole nasty affair doesn’t draw to a close soon, I may never get a decent night’s sleep.”

“Well, I think that once restitution is paid, closure will follow and the nightmares will end. You don’t think you’ll lose, do you? I mean, they’re going to have to pay, right?”

“My attorney thinks so, but to be honest, I don’t particularly care,” Kathryn said. “I just want the whole thing over and done with. It’s not like I need the money all that much.”

“We all need money, love,” Janet chided softly. “Don’t let them turn you into a sacrificial victim. After all, your books are only just now gaining momentum, dear, so it will be a few years more before your writing will support you. Moreover, your husband’s insurance will only last so long. Do you really want to go to work now, and write only part-time? Or would you rather take the money and do what you and Robert always knew you could do – write and become rich and famous.”

“Fame means about the same to me as money, Janet,” Kathryn sighed. “You know that. I just love to write. I used to tell Robert that I didn’t care if my books ever sold, or if my name ever became known, I just have to write.”

“I know, dear, and since writing is your passion, and you need to have an income so that you can fulfill that passion, you need money. When’s the hearing?”

“Next month.”

“Want me to be there?”

“No, that’s okay. Kieran and half the Covington P.D. are going to be there to provide support. You’d only get lost in the fray,” Kathryn said in a weak attempt at humor, and Janet’s bland expression confirmed its feebleness. Instead she quirked her brow and sighed.

“If the nightmares get too bad, take a Valium to help you sleep.”

“Funny.”

“I’m serious, Kat,” Janet said. “I know you don’t hold to prescription support, but have
you seen how hideous you look? You need some rest and soon, and there’s nothing wrong with a little help now and again.”

“Not for you, maybe, but I can survive another month without becoming an incessant insomniac. I just wish the nightmares had stayed gone. You know, if it weren’t for the stress surrounding this upcoming trial, I’d have continued sleeping just fine. Still, if it gets too bad, I’ll pop a Melatonin.”

“Well, let me offer just one more bit of advice, okay?”

“Just one more? Certain you can refrain yourself? After all, this “last bit of advice” would make it about the hundredth piece of advice you’ve offered in the past year-and-a-half. Sounds like you’re addicted to advice-giving.”

“Now who’s being funny? If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t even bother with advising you at all.”

“I know, and I really do appreciate it. Besides, as my daddy used to tell me, advice is always welcome. Once given, you can take it or leave it.”

“Take this and apply it.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“You’re too smart for your own britches. Now, hush up and listen. You are a strong woman, and fate dealt you a really malicious hand, but it’s up to you to play that hand to a win.”

“You can tell you play cards regularly,” Kathryn grinned. “Have you given me that advice before? It sounds familiar.”

“Actually, you wrote that.”

“I did? Sounds cheesy. Cliché.”

“A very overused cliché, and as with all clichés, it makes us publishers cringe, but fortunately the rest of your writing makes up for a few of your ghastly truisms. Anyway, don’t you remember writing it? Your book,
Heart Anew
. Cherish loses her husband...oh, dear. Sorry, my bad.”

“I wrote that book before I lost Robert, Stephanie, and Mitchell. Do you think that perhaps I was writing about my own life and didn’t know it?”

“No. I don’t believe in that kind of negative karma and neither should you. Still, while I may not believe in negative karma, I do believe that good and bad things happen for a reason.”

Kathryn smiled, “Well, I haven’t quite discovered what good could come out of my losing my entire family.”

“Maybe you can’t see the reasons now; but maybe one day you will. Now, let’s get down to business. Hand over your manuscript.”

“You’re going to like this one.”

“Not as depressing as the last, I hope.”

“No. In fact, it could easily be categorized as a Romantic Comedy.”

“Leave the genre categorization to me, dear,” Janet said, placing the envelope in her satchel.

“Aren’t you going to look at it?”

“I will,” Janet said, standing, “as soon as I return to my office from my next meeting. You’re my friend, Kathryn, but you’re hardly my only client.”

Kathryn shook her head and smiled.

“I’ll send the proofs over for your review next week by courier. In the meantime, try to get some rest. Unless you’ve already got another book in the works?”

“Actually, I do.”

“Ah, that’s wonderful. I only wish that all my authors were as predictably prolific.”

“I like keeping busy.”

“No arguments from me on that point normally, but today I have to object. I have a friend who’s a doctor. I’ll give him a call. Let him write you a prescription for Valium and sleep through to next week.”

“No, thank you, but I promise to get some rest, if you promise to stop harping at me.”

“Good. I’ll see you at the Grayson’s this weekend?”

“No.”

“Come on, Kat...”

“No,” Kathryn said, adamant. “I’m simply not ready to mingle with people.”

“It’s been a year-and-a-half...”

“I know how long it’s been, Janet. I don’t need you to remind me.”

“Still too touchy.”

“Then stop touching and go meet your other client.”

“I
am
your friend, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ll talk to you later, then. Do try to have a relaxing afternoon,” Janet said, and then turned and headed toward an approaching cab.

Kathryn lifted her second cup of cappuccino and took a swallow, and then flagged the waiter again, “Thanks for offering to buy lunch,” she called sardonically to Janet’s taxi, retreating from the curb.

September 2060

Wind River, Wyoming

“Do you think that you can manage while I’m away?” Dalian sat at his desk signing the requisition forms brought to him by his foreman. When he didn’t receive a reply, he glanced up at Harvey. “Well?”

“Oh, no problem, Dalian,” his foreman replied.

“Have you got something to say, Harvey?”

“No, no, I was just thinking is all.”

When Harvey paused, no further information forthcoming, Dalian sighed, “Care to share?”

“The men and I, well...,” Harvey said, stammering. He’d been Dalian’s foreman for nearly ten years, but he’d been his friend much longer, and he’d never had this much difficulty talking to him about anything.

“Just spit it out, will you?” Dalian couldn’t recall a time he’d had to bark at his dear friend, and could only surmise that his churlish reaction was due to the inkling he had about from where Harvey’s reticence stemmed.

“Sorry. The men and I were just wondering if you were, well, if you’d decided to...”

“Let me help you out, shall I? Especially as I need to be leaving sooner than you seem willing to speak. I’m returning to The People to visit my mother. I’m not turning Indian on you, and yes, I will return with the spring thaw, so you and the men can rest assured that your employment is secure. Is that what you had on your mind?”

That tirade snapped Harvey from his timidity, “You realize how absurd your comment was? Turning Indian? Really, Dalian? In this day and age?” Harvey retorted, unable to stop the color from seeping from beneath his collar and creeping up his neck into his face. “We couldn’t care less whether you want to go visit The People. Our concern is...well, it’s just that you haven’t exactly shown the same diligence and care you used to since...well, you know. It’s almost as if you want the place to fold. You’ve been here since your early twenties, and never returned to the Blackfoot reservation before. I guess I just wanted to make sure you were all right, you know?”

“And you consider returning to my heritage a sign of mental instability, do you? Good heavens, Harvey, now whose making it sound as if we’re still living in the eighteen
hundreds? Do you really think I’d choose to live on a reservation where the Federal Government dictates my life instead of on the ranch that I built with my own two hands?”

“Well, I didn’t quite mean that...”

“Listen, Harvey,” Dalian sighed. “You’re my friend, but you’re way off the mark here. Yes, the loss of Carolyn and my baby took its toll, but I’m better now. It did make me appreciate however, how much family means, and that in turn, made me think of my mother. I haven’t seen her in decades.”

“That was her wish, not yours. Besides, what if you go all that way, and she doesn’t
remember you, or worse, doesn’t want to see you? She did tell you to stay gone.”

“It’s a chance I’ll take. I have a need to see her.”

“Well, do you have to make it an extended trip?”

“By the time I arrive at the reservation and pay my respects, if, as you say, she’ll allow me to do so, the winter snows will have started and I’m not of a mind to journey back through fifteen feet of snow, especially not on horseback.”

“Horseback! Now who’s stuck in the eighteen hundreds? Geez man! A horse! In this day and age! You
can
take the train, drive, or fly for that matter. Of course, if you take the train or fly, then snow or not, you can return when you like, and we’ve never had fifteen feet of snow.”

“I know that, and no,” Dalian said, sighing, “I need to ride. It’ll be good for me. A way to clear my head once and for all. I’m ready to let Carolyn go, but the memories are holding on tight. The ride will help.”